


The Surrogate

by tetrahedron



Series: Savedra Shepard [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cerberus - Freeform, Enemies to Lovers, Espionage, First Contact War, ME1, Mind Meld, Multi, Renegade Commander Shepard, Ruthless (Mass Effect), Spies & Secret Agents, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:58:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1415929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tetrahedron/pseuds/tetrahedron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(AU storyline where the First Contact war lasted 10 years, with an accelerated timeline.)</p><p>After years of struggling to overcome the stigma of being an L2 biotic, Shepard finds herself assigned to a diplomatic mission alongside her sworn nemesis, hot-shot turian sniper Garrus Vakarian. But with humanity beset by enemies on all sides, and the fate of the galaxy in question, she’ll have to decide where her true loyalties lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. War Games

**Author's Note:**

> This whole story is very AU, so be warned. This arc will attempt to cover the ME1 timeframe, but with a lot of liberties taken regarding when key events from the original plot line happen, and to whom.

**Aephus**

In the last days of the First Contact War, on a planet between Earth and Palaven, two teams were stationed in the decaying ruins of a wasted colony.

Aephus had been a thriving settlement once, before the incident at relay 314. Now it was a bombed out shell, and one of the last contested theaters of operation left in the First Contact War. Broken glass, ashes and the detritus of lives long since abandoned lined the streets, while corrugated metal jutted out like broken teeth from the few warped buildings that had stubbornly refused to collapse. All civilians had been evacuated years ago. But that didn't mean it was empty.

Garrus led his team through the wreckage near the enemy's base, eyes scanning the layout, pinpointing useful cover zones on the squad map. Silently the squad completed their reconnaissance, and slunk back to their hideout at the edge of the colony. Garrus directed his operatives into the common area, and addressed them in his distinctive drawl.

"Our time's running out down here, soldiers," he said. "We've got the honorable Councilor Sparatus up on the Citadel, apparently negotiating a cease-fire as we speak." He sat back, leaning against his ever present rifle. "Soon as that happens, these idiots down here, the ones we've been stringing along for weeks? They get to leave this planet. Head home to their soft Earth beds, and boast about how tough they were back on that shit hole Aephus.”

He heard them grumbling, and he smiled.

“Now, normally I wouldn't have a problem with that." He traced one talon down the notches on his rifle. "This has been one hell of a long war, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't happy to think of heading home myself."

The squad murmured their assent.

"But there's two things that hold me back from letting them walk.” He stopped, shaking his head, and his voice dropped low. "We're leaving this war with some debts. To those that lost their homes, and those that lost their lives."

The squad went still with him as they gave their silence as a gift to those who were lost.

When Garrus looked back up his blue eyes had a spark and his voice had regained that deceptively friendly drawl. "Second thing is, we've got special company here on Aephus today." He smiled a grin that was all teeth. “Intel has confirmed that a very particular person was sent here not long ago to help our friends uptown finish us off." He shrugged. "Though, Spirits, I can't think how we could have made it any easier for those poor fools short of actually lying down and letting them shoot us." The squad laughed.

"But she’s here.” His eyes glittered.  “And now we have a chance to repay one big, heavy debt. Before the war ends and our turian honor dictates that we lay down our weapons, shake hands and walk away as friends."

"Fuck that, sir!" Melanis yelled from the back.

"Fuck that indeed, soldier,” Garrus said, his face intent. He looked speculatively around the room. "We came here to hunt small game, but we’ve got a big predator sniffing our bait. I say we spring the trap."

They were all quiet for a moment.

Then Butler spoke up. "Are we talking about The Butcher, sir? Here, on Aephus?"

His mandibles lifted in a grin. "That’s right. You bastards got lucky."

"Roger that, sir. " Butler replied intently. He paused, then looked up. "I vote we pay our debt, sir."

"Me too, sir," said Mierin.

"For Pheiros!" Melanis hissed.

"For Pheiros!" he heard the others call back.

Garrus felt his chest swell with pride, but he kept his sub-vocals neutral. “Then we hit them hard,” he said. “If it’s her, expect heavy CQC.  And we can't rely on a continuation of the witless tactics they've been showing us so far. So I want everyone double checking for cloaks; I want bullets in the vital zones of anything that shimmers. And if anything so much as sneezes biotic energy, you tag it as a priority target."

He focused his gaze back on Melanis. He knew she’d had family stationed on Pheiros.

“I want this done right, soldiers. If her men stand down, accept their surrender. Our POW ships can ferry them back home just as well as their dreadnoughts. Give them one last taste of the Hierarchy’s hospitality. “ He paused, and his jaw tightened.  “But not her," he said, his sub-vocals radiating cold anger. "Let her blood flow in payment for her crimes.”

He looked around the room, his eyes hard.

"Tonight we pay our debt to Pheiros."

 

\---

 

Shepard moved quickly through the narrow corridors of the base, looking for her CO. She'd only been planet-side for two days and she already had a bad feeling about this operation. Apparently all it took for discipline to drop and com-regs to get sloppy were a few successful skirmishes. The whole division was acting like the war was already over.

On top of that, she'd received a message from an old friend that had set her nerves on edge and her implant humming.

_Shepard-_

_Archangel is stationed on Aephus. I suspect Major Alenko is unaware. Don't let your guard down._

_Stay safe._

_-M_

She'd fought him before, on Shanxi, and on Gellix. And she knew that he didn't make a habit of letting his enemies rack up easy victories. Even without any of that, the astonishingly small number of enemy casualties she'd seen reported ought to have been enough to tip them off that something was wrong. _Turians don't retreat this easily_ , she thought as she walked on. _Not from their own damn colonies._

For a second she thought about Pheiros. Her frown deepened.

"Commander!" One man called out as she passed the mess hall. "Here to watch us drive the last of the birds out of Aephus? It's gonna be a good show." He grinned, oblivious to her mood.

_You poor son of a bitch, this whole operation is so fucked I'll be lucky if I'm not wiping a cloud of your brains off the front of my helmet within the week._

"...Commander?"

She stopped abruptly, sucked in a breath. _Out loud, huh? Lets try that again, Shepard_ , she thought ruefully. This time maybe without scaring the shit out of him. She turned back to face him, a wan smile pasted to her face. He was visibly shaken.

"Sorry about that, soldier,” she said. “It unnerves me to see Aephus this quiet. If the rumors are true, this is Archangel's territory. I can't expect he'll give it up that easily. Better to be on our guard."

The soldier's dopey smile reappeared. "It's Evans, Ma'am. And don't worry, from what we hear Udina's up on the Citadel right now negotiating a cease fire. If he is here, bet you anything we'll see Archangel waving a big white flag come tomorrow."

Shepard barked out a short, bitter laugh. _Jesus, better update that pink cloud forecast to within the hour._ She fought down the spike of energy her annoyance had unleashed at the back of her head, turned and continued walking quickly down the hall, calling back over her shoulder.

"Still gotta make it through the night, Evans. And word is, once you see Archangel, odds are you're already dead."

 

\---

 

She was so caught up in her thoughts and the mounting pressure in her head that she didn't notice someone calling her name until a hand reached out and grabbed her arm. She stiffened, and then sharply saluted when she saw who it was. "Apologies Major, sir!"

"At ease Commander," her CO said, smiling.

She relaxed back on her heels, all the built up energy dissipating from her implant. "Kaidan," she sighed, looking down at her shoes, then up at him with a grin. "I swear to god is it just me or as I get older-"

"..the new recruits get dumber?" He smiled back down at her. "I noticed the same thing. Funny how that works, huh."

She made a face, her smile slipping sideways. "It won't be funny when a fuckload of turians show up to shoot down our door and these idiots are too distracted to do more than piss and scream before their heads explode."

"And there's that classic Shepard charm," he said, rolling his eyes. "That’s why you were always so popular at Brain Camp."

She scowled up at him. He always brought out the kid in her. The one who'd showed up at brain camp 50 pounds underweight, with her head nicked from fighting them while they shaved it, and a mouth that earned her the respect and fear of almost every other kid in camp. Except Kaidan.

Snapping into position, she lifted her shoulder blades and clasped her hands behind her back. "New intel to report, sir."

"Report, Commander," Kaidan replied, automatically slipping back into his status as her CO, a frown creasing his face.

"I've been alerted that there is a VIP is working with hostile ground forces." She swallowed. "Archangel, sir."

Kaidan raised an eyebrow. "And if I asked you for the source of that information?"

Shepard looked away, uncomfortable, and Kaidan's eyes narrowed. "I see. So you're still in contact with her."

"Kaidan-" she tried, until a sharp look from him cut her off.

“She’s Sec 36, ‘Vedra. She shouldn’t even be in contact with you, let alone leaking intel.”

"Sir," she began again, "I know you disapprove. But she's never given me faulty information, sir."

There was a silence, while Kaidan looked at her speculatively. Then he sighed. "Okay. Let's say he is here. Do you believe he's planning to attack?"

"What I believe," Shepard said carefully, "is that if he did attack, with the base in the state it is now, we'd all be dead within minutes. Sir," she finished.

He winced and rubbed his head. "You're not wrong," he admitted. "Things around here have gotten loose. But you know why. We're so close to this whole damn war finally being over. ”

 "I know," she said. "But I know him, too. This whole attack and retreat routine, it isn't how he operates, Kaidan. He’s setting something up. And with the peace talks almost over, tonight might be his last chance."

"I understand," he said. He dropped his hands back into position. "All right Commander. Let’s put that N7 training to work. I assume you have a plan of defense?"

"Sir, yes Sir!" Shepard managed a quick grin before getting down to business. "So here's what I've got." She opened her omnitool, and started outlining the base's defenses.

\---

When they hit, she was ready for them.

She took point, leading the hostiles on a merry chase through the base, directing the newer recruits as they followed behind her. So far, so good. The turians had attacked through one of the underground entrances she'd predicted, and had quickly taken control of the base's lower level. Shepard let them have it. As long as she kept him on the ground, his squad wouldn't be able to use their main advantage. Meanwhile her soldiers were penning them in, blocking off the exits and pushing them back toward the mess hall where they'd be trapped when Kaidan came in from the hallway with the secondary team.

The mess hall was already full of hostiles, most taking cover behind flipped tables. She guided her soldiers in, her assault rifle dealing out suppressing fire as they crouched behind the ruins of a blown out wall. She leaned out, peering around the structure.

One of her men's heads exploded with a sharp crack.

Her eyes went wide.

"Fuck," she swore furiously, ducking back down. "Watch for the sniper!" she shouted to the rest of the room. She felt her heartbeat pound in her throat as she rapidly scanned the high ceiling of the mess hall. How had he managed it? It didn’t matter. If she didn't tag his position quickly her whole setup would turn to crap. She craned her head up checking the perimeter.

He found her first.

The first shot hit her in the gut with the force of a sucker punch. She gasped for breath, heard the sharp _ping_ as her barriers sizzled and dropped, leaving her open. Instinctively she rolled into cover behind an overturned table, cursing as she turned her head towards the direction of the shot. Then she spotted him, high above her in the ducts, and she knew it was too late.

The second shot hit her in the face.

If it had been a quarter inch to the left it would have taken her head. As it was, it almost took off her jaw.

She felt the impact as it pierced her helmet, ripping open the meat of her cheek and crunching through whatever resistance it met. She went down hard, hot purple circles exploding out of the darkness that rose up in front of her eyes as she slumped further back into cover.

For a few seconds everything was black. When her vision cleared and she could think again, she knew she was in trouble. She could feel her throat and mouth filling with blood, the broken bits of her faceplate gritty under her tongue. She fought back the urge to gag from the taste and the smell of her own burnt flesh trapped in the helmet.

 _The helmet_ , she thought, trying to focus. She needed to get it off ASAP. The HUD was malfunctioning, and the mess from her wound was obstructing her vision. She hesitated anyway, afraid that its shattered remnants were all that was holding her face together.

Moving quickly she gingerly removed the cracked pieces, trying not to look too hard at the red matter stuck to the sides. She spat out as much blood as she could, and then tentatively brought up her hands to touched the side of her face, trying to assess how bad the damage was. Her gloved fingers went straight through to her mouth. _Fuck, that’s really not good_ , she thought, her hand shaking.  Shock was still keeping most pain at bay, but she doubted that would last much longer, and she knew that at the rate she was bleeding it was only a matter of time before she blacked out. Pushing all thoughts of her odds of survival out of her head, she covered the wound in medigel, wincing as the viscous liquid burned and then numbed her cheek, solidifying into a sort of plaster.

If she kept still, there was a good chance that the seal would hold. But the noise of combat around her told her it was unlikely she'd have that option.

Dimly she became aware that someone was yelling her name. The low crouch she'd fallen into kept her clear of the sniper, but unable to see much of the fighting she could hear happening in the room around her. Had anyone marked his position yet? She brought up her omnitool, her fingers still shaking as she typed out an alert to the rest of the squad. Then she was jarred as something big and blue launched itself from the hallway to her right and landed in her space.

"Savedra!” he cried out, hands going to her shoulders. She signaled to him, trying to get his attention to his omnitool, but he was too intent on checking her wounds. Frantically she wrenched her ruined mouth open, trying to warn him, wincing in pain as she struggled to form the words through torn and bloody lips.

_Kaidan, the sniper, above you, sniper_

_KAIDAN-_

It happened so quickly. If she hadn’t been staring she might have missed it. The first shot came with a crack that stripped his barriers away to nothing. She heard herself moaning, watched her hands reach up in a futile attempt to pull him down out of range. He turned away, attempting as she had to gauge where the shot had come from. Time seemed to slow down, and she traced the mnemonic for a warp, throwing it out toward where she'd last seen him, crouched in the ducts.

But the second shot rang out before she felt it connect, and then it was over.

She saw his torso stiffen and then go limp, falling backwards across her legs, his hands still twitching. _Don’t look, please god don’t look, turn away_ \- a voice inside her was screaming. But it didn’t matter, because something had become disconnected between her eyes and her brain, and she was unable to make sense of the images in front of her. The pain and the fear were wiped away, replaced instead by a sense of monumental pressure building in the back of her head.

Shepard closed her eyes, aware of only her own breathing and the enormous weight that was gathering. She took in one deep breath, holding it in, shaping it to her will. And then it spiked.

Suddenly she was moving very quickly, and when she stopped the force of her momentum hit her target like a thunderclap-

She lost track of what was happening. A series of confused images flashed in front of her. A turian with her shotgun pressed into its mouth, flailing before it's head burst into meaningless chunks of blue. Another being slowly crushed into the cement floor by a glowing biotic force, while her hands in front of her traced the mnemonic. A voice at the back of her head was giving orders, and she felt her body mechanically obey. _Pull that one out of cover_ , it said. _Shoot the eyes out. Now the one behind it. Finish him. Move on. Find the sniper._

When she felt arms behind her pulling her back, she had whipped the assailant around in a throw before it sunk in. _Wrong amount of fingers, wrong shape._ She dropped her hands back down, stumbled, and looked around. The room around her was covered in bodies stained red and blue, and a clutch of white faced soldiers stood trembling at the far edge of the room, one collapsed against the wall.

"Ma'am," one finally managed to get out, "new orders have come through. They've called a cease-fire." He gulped. "I think, the war is over, Ma'am."

And he saluted, fingers shaking.

Shepard stared back at him with dead eyes. Those words had no meaning to her.

 _Find the sniper_ . "Where's Archangel," she tried to say, and groaned instead, the agony of her ruined face taking that moment to reassert itself. All the pain she'd put off feeling came crashing down on her, and she dropped to her knees. She struggled to rise. _Pick yourself up_ , the voice demanded. _Unbend your legs, stand up and find him. This isn't over. It can't be_ -

But her omnitool was beeping insistently with a high priority message that had come through. She pawed at it, confused, and the voice of Fleet Admiral Hackett echoed through the room, mid message.

“-the Alliance and the Hierarchy have negotiated a cease fire. All units are to stand down and cease hostilities immediately. I repeat, all units stand down and await extraction orders."

She knew he was still here. She turned her head up to the ducts. Fuck her orders. She could find him.

As Shepard searched the ducts, the corners of her vision began to run like melted wax. She realized her face was bleeding freely again. She turned back to the group of soldiers, struggling up right. She limped forward, and from somewhere she felt tentative hands come up to support her. The last thing she remembered was the sight of the ducts overhead as she lost consciousness against someone’s shoulder.

\---

Garrus looked down at her from the ducts, one arm limp, the other locked on his rifle as he took position above her. His whole body was shaking from the internal damage inflicted by her warp, but his hands were still as he set up his gun. He could hear his General's voice droning in his earpiece, telling him to stand down, get back to the base and await extraction, but he only caught every other word.

 _I can still do it_ , he thought, concentrating on jerking his wounded arm into position. _I can end her right now._ They were propping her up, calling into their radios for medical backup, and he almost had it, a little to the right, they were lifting her out, and his cross hairs were centimeters away from her forehead, his shoulders aching with the effort of holding up the gun, he was so damn close-

And then they had got her through the door, and it was over.

He let his rifle drop out of numb fingers, and fell heavily back against the wall.


	2. The Solution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “There is a dead man who lies by the ships, unwept, unburied  
> and I will not forget him, never so long as  
> I remain among the living and my knees have their spring beneath me.  
> And though the dead forget the dead in the house of Hades,  
> even there I shall still remember my beloved companion.”
> 
> -Homer
> 
> Skin doesn't have roots, it peels away as easy as paper- Sylvia Plath

 

_ Shepard is back in the same dream, so familiar now that it feels like her second home, realer than what she sees when she's awake.   _

_ The restraints are still tied around her wrists and ankles, the stiff hospital sheets around her waist, and she smells disinfectant and something sweet. The doctors shift above her, a bright light shining down, obscuring their faces.  _

_ Their impersonal hands are cool against her bare skin, and she feels the ice cold line of the razor moving over her scalp, prickling slightly as it slices through any resistance it meets. She tries to struggle but she can feel their latex gloves pressing into the bones of her thighs and shoulders, keeping her immobile as the hand holding the razor moves lower, until it's at her mouth, the shining edge pressing into the soft corner of her upper lip, sinking in deep until she feels the flesh go taut and then finally split, as they slowly and gently begin to cut her face away- _

Shepard convulsed violently, rearing back from her attackers, her back arching in shock.  _ Wake up  _ **_wakeupwakeupwakeup_ **  her mind screamed, and yet she could still smell the antiseptic, feel the crisp starched sheets against her body, the unmistakable feel of a hospital bed, needles in her skin, the sensation she'd recognize until  the day she died-

"Shepard," a familiar voice said, and as she turned toward the sound she felt the warm damp tangle of her hair against her cheek. 

_ Not back there _ , she told herself,  _ a different hospital _ , and she felt her heartbeat pound loudly in her ears and focused on letting it subside, taking in a deep breath, forcing herself not to tear at the needle she felt in her arm.

When she opened her eyes she found Anderson sitting in the chair by her bed.

"You're lucky to be alive," he told her, his dark eyes serious.

She tried to give him a grin, but her mouth caught on something stiff and the pain warped through her cheek. She flinched, her head spasming back against the bed.

She slowly moved her tongue inside her mouth, tracing the hard knots of the stitches that held her cheek together. Opening her mouth slightly, she tested what she could move. The wave of pain hit her again like a slap. 

"Kaidan," she hissed out.

Anderson's face clouded. 

"Gone," he said, and she winced at the finality of that word. "I'm sorry Shepard. He was a good man and a damn fine soldier." 

Shepard closed her eyes. She’d known, of course. But it hadn’t felt real until she heard him say it.

Anderson clear his throat. "From what your soldiers have told me, you're the only reason anyone made it off that damned rock."

Shepard just shrugged, opening her eyes and looking out over his shoulder. What did it matter if they’d survived, she thought bitterly. The only person she’d ever cared about was gone.

"We're all stuck in a holding pattern right now while the politicians hammer out the details of this peace treaty. But when you've got medical clearance, I want you to report to me for orders. Is that clear, Commander?"

She nodded and gave him a weak salute.

"Rest, Shepard. I'll be in touch." He patted her shoulder, stood up, and left the room.

 

**Citadel- The next month**

 

Tevos looked down at the officers, admirals and generals gathered before her. They had all come a long way to reach a place where this meeting was even possible. She hoped that they'd be able to go a little further today.

Ten years after the destruction of Alliance ships at Relay 314, the war between the Hierarchy and the Systems Alliance was finally over. As costs and casualties rose on both sides, the Council had called for representatives to meet on the Citadel to discuss peace. 

It should have been simple. The Hierarchy was looking for a way out that involved saving as much face as possible, while the Systems Alliance wanted the freedom to operate within their own sector, an embassy on the Citadel, and reparations for what they considered an unprovoked war,. The Council, sans Sparatus, who had recused himself for the duration of the negotiations, had quickly been able to draw up terms that suited both parties.

But tensions were still running high. Extremist cells had formed on both sides, each insisting the other deliver on impossible demands and restitution as a precursor to peace. Humanity in general looked disfavorably upon other races, seeing them as enemies or isolationists. And some of the turians were openly calling for war to resume.

Something had to be done to unite the two races, or the dissident factions would drag them all back into war within the year. To foster the spirit of collaboration between species, the Council had begun by sponsoring the construction of a new class of scout ship, utilizing the best and brightest minds that the turians and humanity had to offer.

But this initiative on its own was not enough. Tevos knew that a lasting peace would require trust between humanity and the Council races.

She also knew that it would be extremely unwise to allow a military power as strong as the Alliance to continue to operate independently from any Council influence.

She needed a solution that created goodwill toward the Alliance, while simultaneously tethering them to the Council's will. She had found an outcome that suited both objectives.

In return for a council embassy, colony rights to certain contested planets, and a wealth of intraspecies intel and trading contracts, the Council would require the human military to create an integrated task force with the turians. Tevos intended to form a new institution, conscripted from the human and turian military but acting independently from both; a peacekeeping force, which would fall under Council jurisdiction and police Council space. If appropriately harnessed under Council sovereignty, the combined military might of the turians and humans would be an unprecedented galactic force. But for such a faction to remain stable, abiding bonds would have to be forged between the two formidable institutions. 

Tevos hoped these bonds could be formed willingly. She was prepared to enact them forcibly.

"We thank you for coming here today," she began, speaking lightly, yet instantly commanding the attention of everyone gathered in the room. 

"You do your governments and your people credit by lending your presence to this mediation. We of the council see and respect that both sides are here in a genuine attempt to create peace."

"But we fear it will not be enough." She paused. "Suspicion and hostility cloud the minds of your people. Without a greater commitment to unity and cooperation, this peace will fracture and bloodshed will follow." She looked at Valern. 

He nodded at her, and spoke. "After much discussion, we believe we have found a solution. Will those present today agree to be guided by our will, the will of the Citadel Council?" 

The assembled men and women of both species nodded their assent, some quickly, others grudgingly.

"Excellent," Tevos sighed out softly. "Then this is what we propose."

\---

**Arcturus Station**

 

Shepard was lying on her bed, staring mindlessly at the vid screen in her room on Arcturus when to her surprise and relief, she recognized a familiar prickling at the back of her head. She hadn't had the concentration to summon up any kind of biotic impulse in weeks, but now she could feel the bottom of her skull warming in a reassuring ache that momentarily brought her clarity, cutting through the thick fog of apathy that she'd been hiding in since waking up in the Arcturus Medical Center. 

When she felt the prickling build up into a steady thrum, she smiled and felt a sharp stab in her cheek as the tender scar tissue stretched painfully. They'd only removed the stitches a few days ago. But as she watched the blue light spread down her arm, her grin stretched out wide enough that the tender new skin at the corner of her mouth split and she tasted blood.  

She absentmindedly licked it away, and reached out for the wad of cotton bandages she kept next to the bed. Pressing one to her face, she closed her eyes and concentrated on pulling the energy down into her sternum.

From the vidscreen she could hear someone discussing the terms of the recent Citadel treaty between the Alliance and the Hierarchy. As they mentioned the new integrated peace force, Shepard's concentration faded. Spitting out the blood that was pooling in her mouth, she stared gloomily at the screen.  _ Practically annexed half our military, the smug bastards, _ she thought angrily. The thrum in her head became a powerful throb, building to an almost painful intensity. 

They cut to footage of an alien she'd never seen before. She frowned, squinting at the screen. All military personnel had had their translators updated after the cease-fire, and the clarity with which she could now understand the insults coming out of what she assumed was this four eyed creature's mouth was nothing short of astonishing. The program cut back to an asari newscaster.

" _ The Batarian Hegemony has protested the inclusion of the Alliance in Citadel space, claiming that several of the colony worlds gifted to the Alliance in the treaty lie within ‘areas of batarian interest’. Today, we are informed that after learning of the Council's refusal to revoke their decision, ambassador Jath'Amon has severed diplomatic relations and shuttered the Batarian Embassy. As word of the fallout spreads, many fear what repercussions may befall the Skyllian Verge. All colonies have been put on high alert for slaver ships and raids. _ ”

Swallowing the last of blood in her mouth, Shepard violently switched off the vid screen and grabbed her workout gear, pressing her shoulder into the gauze on her cheek to keep pressure on it as she pulled on her trainers.

Ducking out of her room, she jogged down to the facility's fitness center. The swelling heat in her head was making her dizzy and nauseous _.  _ Dimly she recognized that the magnitude of her flare up was getting out of control, but she couldn’t stop the anger building within her. 

_ Join the Council races in peace,  _ she thought sardonically,  _ but keep an eye out for those slaver raids! _

She kicked open the door to the biotic training area and let her fingers trace the mnemonic for a throw. Blue force shivered down her arm and hit the empty room, blasting all loose equipment up against the wall. Her legs went wobbly from the release, and she pressed herself into the doorway, shaking.  She could feel the waves of energy radiating off her body, catching its bright wisps in the corner of her vision.

_ Control it _ , she thought, as her implant burned up in her skull, paranoia kicking in. She couldn't afford for there to be any further questions about her suitability for service after her current medical leave ended. Her status as an L2 already made her tainted goods in the eyes of most Alliance brass; any kind of biotic stability inquiry on her record and she'd wind in the fast lane to Cat 6. 

Her class of biotics had a reputation for being unreliable and unstable. She'd built her career around disproving that stereotype. If it hadn’t been for officers like Anderson who were willing to give her half a chance, she’d still be rank-and-file. 

She and Kaidan had struggled together, working twice as hard to earn half the respect, over time succeeding in gaining the grudging recognition of their superiors, and eventually their own commissions. He'd risen faster than her, but none of it had been easy. 

Her cheek still pressed against the wall, she found herself recalling all the times they'd traded gripes over drinks, bitching about the CO’s who'd assumed they were too delicate for CQC, too erratic to trust on high priority missions, and too volatile to risk placing in a position of command.

The night they'd celebrated him finally making Major. The look of pride he'd given her when she'd met him in Vancouver, fresh from completing the N7 program. Kaidan, who had made biotics seem like a gift when everyone else treated it like a disease. 

Suddenly her face was wet, and her eyes hot.  _ You proved them wrong every time, didn't you Major _ . She smiled fiercely through her tears, and the pain as her mouth stretched her wound open again was enough to ground her, and make her legs remember how to support her weight.

She breathed deeply, looking down at the spots of blood on her shirt, a little lost. 

She recalled the look of hatred on the four eyed creature's face.

The war was over. But maybe there was still work she could do.

She straightened up. 

It was time to stop wallowing in regrets and old nightmares. She needed to concentrate on getting herself approved for active duty. Unfortunately that meant putting her workout on hold while she got a few more stitches put in. 

Shepard scowled. She hated hospitals.  _ But they can't keep you this time _ , she told herself, turning and heading back out the door.  _ Play your cards right and they'll have to let you go _ .


	3. Compromised

She reported to Anderson's office the next week.

When he briefed her on the details of the assignment, she couldn't keep back all of her dismay.

"Assigned to Council forces, sir?" she repeated.

"Yes, Commander. You’ll be serving as my second-in-command on the Normandy, one of the new scout ships from the collaborative initiative. We'll both be working under our allies in the Council."

The last thing she'd ever expected was to be assigned to some kind of diplomatic mission. She was a fighter, a fixer: the Alliance wielded her like a club, sending her as a final attempt to salvage failed operations. She was used to arriving at sites where everything had already gone to hell, with orders to stabilize the situation by any means necessary. 

But working as part of a diplomatic team, with 'allies' that a month ago she would have shot on sight? That was unexpected. 

_ Unless _ , she thought, the trained part of her mind already plotting out scenarios,  _ someone expects this whole thing to go sideways from day one _ . 

"Sir,” she said, unease and resentment warring within her, “I've been with the Alliance Navy since I was 18. Now they want me to take order from the turians?" 

Anderson’s eyes narrowed. "You'll be taking your orders from me," he said, his voice going hard. “Shepard, I respect the work you’ve done. You’ve pulled off missions that no one else could have walked away from alive. But frankly, soldier, if working with the turians isn't something you can stomach, you're better off taking an early retirement."

"Sir?" she said, blinking in surprise.

"The Alliance needs to know that you can play nice with our new 'allies'," Anderson said evenly. 

“Have I given you cause to doubt my ability to follow orders, sir?” she asked, keeping her eyes on his.

He stood up from his desk. "I'm aware that you are in contact with an operative from Section 36. "

Shepard went still. Officially, Section 36 didn’t exist. That Anderson was willing to say the name meant this was either a test, or a trap. 

"Yes, sir," she said carefully. "The intel provided was crucial to many of my missions." 

"That kind of one on one relationship is highly unusual for their division. Standard procedures dictate that their intel gets forwarded to HQ. Any idea why this agent was in direct contact with you?"

Shepard looked straight ahead, her face expressionless. "There was... a personal connection," she stated.

His face shifted, and she knew she’d made a misstep."That’s what I was afraid of," he muttered, rubbing his face.

Shepard quickly switched tactics. "I don't understand, sir," she said. "They were working with us. Surely she wouldn’t have initiated contact without orders?”

“Maybe she did,” Anderson said, closing his eyes. “The clearance level for that department goes way over my head. But even if half the Admiralty board signed off on it, it’s not going to help you now.”

“Sir?” she asked, confused.

"They were never Alliance, Shepard. They were contracted to infiltrate, sabotage, and retrieve intel from situations where we couldn’t risk our own soldiers getting caught. We don’t command their loyalty. The kind of black-ops work they did requires a specific skill set, and the implications make a lot of the higher ups nervous. More so now than ever."  He paused, and caught her eye.  "Since the peace treaty was ratified, they've broken away from the Alliance Navy entirely. Seems that they don't agree with the concessions that were made. They feel humanity would be better off without linking itself to the Council. Given the nature of their work, many fear that they will attempt to plant or turn members within high ranking Alliance personnel.” He tapped his desk. “You have been designated at risk. "

Shock flickered across Shepard's face.

"Are you questioning my loyalty to the Alliance, sir?" she asked, her voice tight.

He held her gaze for a moment, looking at her searchingly. "No," he said finally. "If we thought you had been turned, you'd have already been discharged. You're under suspicion. But add that to the collective apprehension regarding your status as an L2 and you start to get the picture of why Alliance wants you out of their hair."

"I see," she said, her voice like ice. "Now that there's nothing left to kill, I'm not useful anymore."

He shook his head. "Shepard," he said, his voice softening. “I want you on this mission. You’ve always been an invaluable resource. But the war is over. My concern is whether or not you can handle peace.”

Shepard fought back her emotional response, her face frozen in a mask of disciplined calm. She knew if she lost her temper she'd only prove his point.

"I can follow orders, sir," she said, struggling to keep back her anger and disappointment. "You can count on that. But I don't understand. If they think I'm at risk of defecting, why put me on this high profile diplomatic mission."  _ More like boondoggle,  _ she thought angrily.

For a second Anderson paused, and she saw something close to regret flash across his face. "That has to do with the identity of the turians we'll be serving with on the Normandy," he said at last.

Shepard blinked. Then her eyes widened as she guessed his meaning. Her heart rate sped up.  _ He can't mean that _ , she thought dumbly.  _ He can't _ .

"Who, sir?" she asked in a voice gone flat.

"Our mission will be overseen by Nihlus Kryik, a high ranking member of the Council's special tactics and reconnaissance group. He'll be accompanied by Staff-Commander Garrus Vakarian."

Even though she had braced for it, she was still caught off guard by the rush of rage she felt at hearing the name. Her teeth were gritted, but she saw Anderson was closely watching her reaction, so she locked down her face and let the anger burn up in her chest. After a moment, she found she could speak again. "Why him." 

“The hell if I know,” Anderson said wearily, rubbing his forehead. "The Alliance hasn't discounted the possibility that this whole thing could be a set up. Sending a top soldier like Vakarian for this mission doesn't exactly shout 'diplomacy'. He's been brilliant at taking down all our best operations.” He smiled wanly. “Only thing that’s ever stopped him is you." 

Shepard’s eyes narrowed. 

"We want him off-balance, and on his guard,” Anderson continued. “If he's thinking about you, he'll be less effective at planning a sabotage. We need him compromised, Shepard.” His gaze sharpened. “I know that with what happened on Aephus there's a lot of bad blood between you two. Hell, we're counting on it. But this whole mission depends on you being able to keep it under control." He paused, his eyes searching her face. "Can you do that, Commander?"

Shepard wanted to laugh. Her whole life was about control. Control of the implant they'd put in her head when she was nine years old. Control over the anger she felt whenever they talked about her like she was some kind of freak. Controlling the monster they needed her to be, and then punished her for being. She was an idiot to think anything had changed. 

Kaidan's face hovered in her mind, again. Would it have been him, on this mission, if he had lived, she wondered bitterly.  _ Even if it was, they'd find another place to stick you _ , a voice whispered,  _ someplace they could break you, and discharge you _ . _ You were built for destruction, not peace. _

She'd be damned if she let them win.

She twisted her mouth into her new smile, feeling the scar tissue ripple along her cheek. 

"Yes, sir. I can."

"Glad to hear it soldier." He stepped back behind his deck. "Report to the Normandy at 0700 hours tomorrow at the dry dock."

Shepard raised her hand in a salute, and left his office.


	4. The Beacon

Garrus stood at attention beside Nihlus outside the Normandy, awaiting the arrival of his new crew-mates.  _ Human crew-mates,  _ he thought wryly,  _ well isn't that a kick in the plates _ .

It had been a strange couple of months. Learning that he'd been tapped for Spectre candidacy had pulled him out of the haze of self-recrimination and regret he'd lived in since the end of the war. It was a shock that they'd even want him, after the colossal fuck up of the Aephus operation, and he'd considered turning it down in order to let someone more qualified rise up.

But then Nihlus had showed up at his apartment, with a case of beer and not one ounce of pity. That had been a shock too. Even after hearing his father rail against the Spectres, he'd never expected them to be so informal. After spending the night listening to the older turian tell stories of his service, he began to see that he wasn't the only one who found the rules and regulations of the Hierarchy stifling. And he found himself thinking that it was possible the Council might have a use for one self-professed bad turian. 

It had helped that it made his father furious.

He’d been through a couple missions with Nihlus in the last few weeks, enough to know that he liked the older turian, and the way he got things done. When they’d been assigned to helm one of the newly formed Citadel Defense Force ships, he knew it would mean working with humans. Theoretically, he understood the necessity of an integrated crew. The war was over, and the Council had managed to appropriate a large chunk of the human military; better to put it to use. It even made sense on a practical level, as their first assignment was the retrieval of Prothean artifacts from a human colony, and turian-human relations hadn’t yet come so far that the colonists would respond well to an all turian ship swooping in and making off with their technology. All the same, it was a hell of a thing- to serve beside the species he’d devoted the last ten years to killing. 

But when the Alliance hover car pulled up, and his trained eye picked out a familiar figure among the blue clad officers, any ambivalence he felt took a backseat to the sudden and overwhelming desire to discharge his rifle in what was left of Savedra Shepard's face.

\----

"What _ the fuck  _ is she doing here," Garrus hissed furiously at Nihlus, slamming one balled up fist against the closed door of the captain's quarters. 

He'd kept it together, just barely, during the formal introduction to his new crew-mates. Even when she'd stared right at him and grinned viciously in a way that left no doubt that she'd been expecting him, he'd kept silent, his face still and impassive. But after the humans were dismissed to their positions, and the ship prepped for the relay jump, he'd immediately marched into Nihlus' quarters.

"Calm down, Garrus.” Nihlus had his back to him so he couldn't see his expression, but the remonstrance in his sub-vocals was a clear warning. "I wasn't made aware they had chosen Shepard to accompany Anderson until today," He stated calmly. "I understand she is somewhat notorious among the troops, but this is a diplomatic mission and I don't believe-"

"Don't you dare try to tell me it’s some kind of coincidence," Garrus spat out. 

Nihlus let a out a breath, and turned to face Garrus. Irritation crept into his vocals.  "Don't be a fool. Of course it’s not a coincidence. It's obviously a power play on their part. But we can't back down."

"It's some kind of stratagem, sir." Garrus insisted. "I'm telling you, they never send her without a reason. Every time she shows up, our people die. Shanxi, Pheiros,-"

"Aephus? Yes, Garrus, believe it or not I do read the briefs you submit." Nihlus sighed, his voice weary. "So what? Should I have demanded they send someone else? What purpose would that have served, aside from handing them the advantage, and making us look like a bunch of terrified pyjacks?"

To his chagrin Garrus found he had no response. 

Nihlus nodded and continued. "Like it or not, she will be a part of this crew. Now, I don’t expect much trouble on Eden Prime, but it is on the the edge of the Terminus, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned as a Spectre it’s that nothing is ever simple when it comes to Prothean technology. If we do see action, you'll be on the field together. I recommend you find a way to handle her."

"Oh, I've got a couple ideas," Garrus muttered darkly, his fingers itching for his rifle.

"Vakarian, if her body turns up with a goddamn hole in her skull you will have personally blown this peace treaty to hell," Nihlus snapped. "Do you really want to send the entire Hierarchy back to war because of some grudge-match with one blasted human?" 

Garrus lowered his eyes, fuming. Between clenched teeth, he got out a "No, sir."

"Glad to hear it," Nihlus retorted. He walked over to his desk. "Now, I'm aware that Spectres have a certain reputation in the Hierarchy for recklessness. In fact," he paused, rubbing his brow-plates, "I'm sure your father had something to say about you taking this position."

Garrus kept his head down, but he grinned slightly. "Several somethings, sir."

"You signed on in spite of his disapproval?" Nihlus asked, surprised.

Garrus snorted. "Hell, his disapproval was half the reason I accepted."

Nihlus shook his head, and continued. "Be that as it may, on this assignment I need you to go by the book. This is a political land-mine, and believe me when I say that if I find out you're the one who's set it off, I will happily resort to abusing my Spectre status." He fixed Garrus with a meaningful glare. "I know you're used to playing things fast and loose out in the field," he continued. "It's why I agreed to mentor you. I need someone who knows good orders from bad. But you need to look at the bigger picture here. Say you take her out, what happens next? Worst case, we all go back to war. Best case, the Alliance gets further reparations, the Hierarchy get a black eye, and you get sent back to Palaven to sit planet-side the rest of your life." 

Garrus swallowed, and Nihlus smiled. 

"Not exactly ideal for anyone," he said. "So use your head. This is our best chance to get information on their military structure. With the deal the Council struck, almost half their forces are tied to ours for the foreseeable future." He shrugged. "Maybe it lasts, maybe it doesn't." His face darkened. "But we had damn well better get a handle on how they operate. Because we are supposed to have the strongest fleet in the galaxy, and we couldn't even get a toehold in their system."

Garrus winced. He knew Nihlus was right. "I understand, sir," he acknowledged grudgingly.

"Excellent. Then, in the interest of avoiding any bouts of friendly fire, your orders are to go address the issue with your fellow officer."

Garrus jerked his head up in surprise. "Sir?"

"This is a space ship, Vakarian. A little tin can floating around in a deadly, unpredictable void. I have enough to worry about out there," Nihlus rapped the wall. "I can't afford a threat within the ship as well. ”

"Then you shouldn't have let her on board," Garrus muttered.

" _ Enough _ , Garrus." Nihlus said, bring his talons down on his desk. "Spirits, if she were turian I'd just order you both down to the sparring deck and let nature work its course." His mandibles twitched as Garrus shot him a glare of pure loathing.  

"Out of all the Spectres on the Citadel, I go and get myself assigned to the one who thinks he's funny," Garrus said acidly. 

Nihlus grinned. "Spoken like a boy who should have listened to his father."

Garrus stood, not bothering to keep the irritation out of his voice. "Withdrawing to confront the psychotic human war-criminal, sir!"

"See that you do, Vakarian. Dismissed.” Nihlus responded, returning to the paperwork at his desk.

\----

He found her in the cargo bay of the Normandy, admiring the Mako. Inwardly he bristled at sight of her touching it.

"See something you like?” he called out harshly.

She responded before turning. "Haven't driven one of these since my N7 train-" Her voice died as she saw who she was speaking to, and he smiled. She frowned, and he heard her swear and mutter something he didn't catch about translators.

"Butcher," he said, inclining his head toward her in a short jerk. He let his eyes linger on the deep red scar that cut across the left side of her face. "I see the Alliance helped you get your face sorted out" he said flatly.

Shepard grinned, the scar rippling across her cheek. "Yeah they stitched it up ASAP back at HQ. Brass wanted me to have cosmetic surgery." She laughed, and her eyes fixed on him, burning green like the heart of a chemical fire. "I wouldn't let them touch it. Figure this makes me living proof to every Alliance grunt from here to the Terminus of what a crap sniper you are." 

She turned the ruined side of her face towards him, the scar curving up like a continuation of her smile, and in his head Garrus saw the dripping red wound, remembered her bearing down on him with her face half torn away.  "Should have aimed to the right,  _ Archangel _ . Don't they teach you birds anything in basic?"

Garrus snarled at the slur, and Nihlus' threats retreated to the back of his brain as he thought about how easy it would be to kill her down here, right now.  _ One quick blow to the head _ , he thought.  _ Then break her neck _ . It'd be over before anyone could stop him. Stepping closer, he could see that her smile was forced.

It was costing her something, all this seemingly casual animosity, he realized. He saw her hands twitch.  _ I wonder if she's thinking the same thing _ .

A cold voice cut in. "I believe they are at least taught how to properly address a superior officer, which appears to be more than can be said of the Alliance these days."

Garrus turned his head and saw an older human woman standing next to the elevator, cooly appraising both of them. 

She nodded at him. "Dr. Karin Chakwas, Commander. Captain Anderson asked me to come down so that I might be on hand should either of you require medical assistance." She crossed her arms over her chest. 

"That, ah, won't be necessary, Doctor." Garrus replied, after an awkward pause.

"Delighted to hear it, Commander. And might I add that while I am aware of the rather colorful nicknames that you both seem to enjoy using, I feel that it would be more professional to address each other by your respective rank? Since this is a diplomatic mission, and we are supposed to be on the same side," she added pointedly.

"Noted," he heard Shepard say in a tight voice. 

Dr. Chakwas raised a silvery eyebrow at her. "Well if I am not needed, I shall return to the many other important tasks that await me in the medical bay. That is, if you are both quite sure you don’t intend to inconvenience me and the rest of the crew with a senseless and shameful altercation," she said acidly.

"No, Ma'am." Garrus said. 

She nodded once again, turned on her heel, and was about to re-entered the elevator, when Anderson’s voice crackled through over the ship coms.

“Shepard, Vakarian, report to the comm room immediately. We’ve got trouble.”

Garrus looked back at Shepard, his gaze still hostile. He jerked his head at the elevator. “You heard him. Let’s move.”

She nodded, and followed him into the elevator.

—

Shepard’s adrenaline spiked as she watched the footage of the attack. The ship was monstrous, bigger than any she’d ever seen. She shot a glance at the two turians, and wished she was better at deciphering their facial expressions. As things stood she could barely tell any of them apart. Except for Vakarian. She’d always be able to pick out his face, now. Her skin prickled and she glared at him. 

He’d managed to catch her by surprise in the cargo bay. She’d never heard his voice before, and the new translator worked so seamlessly she’d actually mistaken it for human. She’d have to pay closer attention to the flanging undertones. She’d heard they conveyed social cues.

The other turian turned and addressed them.

“Shepard, Vakarian, suit up. We’re going in to secure the beacon.”

“What about survivors, sir?” she heard Vakarian ask.

Nihlus shook his head. “Your top priority is retrieving the beacon. I’ll scout out ahead and relay status reports to you both.” He paced out of the room, and Vakarian followed.

“Shepard, “ Anderson caught her wrist as she headed for her gear locker, pulling her aside. His voice was low. “Keep your eyes open down there. That ship didn’t look turian. Hell, it didn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen before. But if they’re reopening hostilities, we need to know. I’ve opened a secure channel for you to communicate through. Update me on everything you see on the ground. I’ll be in touch with the fleet. If our suspicions were correct, and this goes bad,” and he jerked his head back toward the turians, his eyes hard, “I’ll authorize you to take them out. We’ll deal with the fallout later.”

Shepard grinned. This was shaping up to be her kind of mission after all. 

“Understood, sir.”

——

Shepard hung back as Vakarian spoke with the scientists they’d found hiding. Ducking behind a wall, she took the break in action as an opportunity to contact Anderson.

“This is Shepard reporting in. We’re facing unknown alien hostiles. Vakarian called them ‘geth’, says they’re rogue synthetics. We picked up a survivor from the 212 regiment, Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams. The rest...” She swallowed, trying to think how to explain the atrocity she’d witnessed.

“Dead?” Anderson’s voice crackled throughout the com.

“Worse,” she said grimly. “The geth have… modified them, somehow. It’s not pretty sir.”

Anderson swore. “Any sign the turians are in on this?” 

Shepard frowned. “Not yet, sir,” she answered reluctantly. “From what I’m seeing, it looks like the hostiles are targeting the beacon, not the colony.”

“Then don’t initiate unnecessary hostilities. I know this is a tough position, Shepard, but if we overplay our hand here the consequences will be catastrophic. Wait it out, and contact me again when you can. Anderson out.”

She stepped out of cover, loping to catch up with the others. Williams was giving Vakarian a rundown on the layout of the camp. Suddenly all three of them jerked their heads around as the sharp retort of a gun firing rang out somewhere ahead of them.

“That came from the spaceport,” Williams said nervously.

Shepard watched as Vakarian unholstered his rifle.

“Head out,” he said grimly.

—

She contacted him again at the docks, taking cover behind crates as a geth fired at her.

“This is Shepard. I have confirmation of turian involvement, sir,” she spat out.

“Report, soldier.”

“Nihlus is dead,” she said. “We’ve got an eyewitness here saying that some other turian shot him in the back.” She leaned out to throw a warp at the creature, knocking it back.

“Any information on this other turian?” Anderson’s voice sounded tense.

Shepard eyes narrowed, and she turned back to look at Vakarian, who was firing from above her into the line of geth approaching them. She brought up her pistol until it was trained on his head. If she told Anderson she thought he was involved, he'd give her clearance to end his life. But all her instincts were telling her that the shock he’d displayed at finding Nihlus’ body had been genuine. She hesitated, and then lowered her gun.  _ Not like this _ , she thought. 

“It wasn’t Vakarian,” she said into the channel, “he was with me the whole time. I … don’t believe he was involved, sir.” She might be crap at reading turian expressions but Vakarian’s grief had been obvious even to her. ”The witness said Nihlus called the other turian ‘Saren’.”

“Did you just say  _ Saren _ ?” Anderson’s voice sharpened. 

“Affirmative, sir,” she replied, frowning. “Orders?”

“Shepard, this changes the mission parameters. You need to keep Vakarian alive. If this is a frame up, he’s the only source the Council will trust to corroborate our version of the story. Keep him in your sights at all times. If you see the other turian, do not hesitate to engage.”

“Understood. Over and out, sir,” she replied, turning back to the enemy.

——

Shepard leaned back into the railing next to the Beacon, catching her breath. They’d manage to find and disarm all the charges, and take out the rest of the geth and the …other things. She shuddered. Williams walked over to her, looking out over the railing at the destruction below. 

“It’s like someone set off a bomb,” she muttered, her face somber. “What ship could do this?”

“I don’t know.” Shepard replied. She opened the channel to Anderson again. “The beacon is secure, sir. Requesting immediate evac.”

“Roger, soldier. Stand by for pick up.” 

She heard Vakarian approach them. “Why is it lit up like that,” he demanded, nodding at the beacon.

Williams shrugged. “It wasn’t doing anything like that when they dug it up. Something must have activated it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him move in closer, examining its structure. Then she flinched as the Beacon flashed a brilliant green, and Vakarian was dragged towards it. She hesitated for a moment, her hatred warring with her orders. 

Her orders won out.  _ God damn it, _ she thought, moving quickly. She ran forward, and jumped to tackle him. Their bodies collided, and then she felt a strange crackle as both of them were jerked up into the air, her arms and legs going rigid. Her head knocked back against his, and then her body tensed as images poured into her brain-

Abruptly her mind exploded into chaos as she heard the screams of millions of lives extinguished, their terror and pain a sensation like burning coals pressed into her skin as one by one their existence was snuffed out. Images of destruction and violation flashed before her until it was all sucked up, feeding into the vacuum of space and something that lurked within, their presence burning cold like bleach in her brain, and she felt them see her, recognize her, her and one other-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terrible at chain of command logistics, and after this mission it all changes anyway so, for the record, the set up here is Nihlus > Anderson > Garrus > Shepard > other folks


	5. The Council

“Dr. Chakwas? I think they’re waking up.”

Garrus woke up in the med bay, his head throbbing. He winced, the images from the vision still flashing before his eyes. _What the hell was that,_ he thought to himself, gingerly sitting up. And then he stopped.

Shepard was on the bed next to his, her hand to her face as she blinked up at him, frowning. He recognized Dr. Chakwas and the human woman they'd picked up on Eden Prime standing next to them.

He looked up at them. "What happened."

Williams stepped forward. "The Beacon lit up like a firework, caught you in some kind of beam. Shepard tried to knock you out of the way, but it caught both of you. Then it, uh, exploded,” she finished sheepishly.

Surprised, Garrus' head swiveled back to where Shepard still lay on the opposite bed. "Didn't know you cared," he drawled at her, showing teeth.

Her eyes narrowed at him. "My orders were to keep you alive," she bit out hoarsely, "so that no one tries to blame humanity for Nihlus' death."

Nihlus. Garrus bowed his head. He hadn't known him for long, but it was long enough to know he was a good man, and an excellent commanding officer. His shoulders drooped as he thought of the duties ahead of him.

"How long was I out," he asked, rubbing his head.

"About fifteen hours," Chakwas said.

Garrus swore. "We need to head back to the Citadel immediately. The Council needs to hear about Saren working with the geth.” He decided not to bring up the vision. Better to discuss it privately with a Hierarchy representative. Or better yet, not mention it at all, he thought, wincing as he pictured the reaction he’d get.

Dr. Chakwas cleared her throat. "We are already en route to the Citadel," she told them.

"Physically you are both fine, but I've recorded some very unusual brain activity. I'd like to keep you both for observation," and Garrus noticed Shepard go tense, "but Captain Anderson has requested that you report for briefing as soon as you're physically able," she finished, tilting her head wryly.

"Thank you Doctor," he said. He pulled himself up, and headed for the comm room. He felt Shepard's presence behind him. _Felt_? He frowned. His head still ached, and the room shifted in a strange way, as if he was receiving double feedback. He shook his head and kept walking. He was probably just recovering from the explosion.

\----

In the comm room, Anderson had his back to them. "Well, let me see if I’ve got this all straight. Nihlus is dead, the beacon was destroyed and the geth are invading.” He shook his head, hand over his face. “That’s one hell of a start to a diplomatic mission.”

He looked up and his eyes hardened as he saw Garrus. He crossed his arms. “Vakarian. Care to explain to me why one of your people allied with the geth to attack a human colony?"

"The Hierarchy had nothing to do with this, " Garrus snapped back. "Saren's a Spectre, he's worked for the Council for years now." He paced around the room, trying to make some kind of sense of what he had seen. "But there's no way they'd give him clearance to command geth troops, let alone destroy a Prothean Artifact."

Anderson stared at Garrus. "I need to know where you stand in this.”

Garrus returned his gaze. "I stand with the Council. The bastard's clearly gone rogue. Spirits, he slaughtered my commanding officer. But this wasn’t about the colony, or some grudge with humanity. He wanted that beacon. We need to find out why. "

Anderson smiled grimly. "We will."

"Sir,” he heard Shepard say, her voice hesitant. “I saw … something, before I blacked out. Some kind of vision." She paused, as if struggling with the words. “Millions of people dying, whole planets exterminated…”

Anderson froze, and then slowly turned to face her. “Shepard, I want you to think very carefully about what you just said." He eyed her coldly. “This is the kind of admission that gets biotics in your class get benched, permanently."

Garrus could feel her anger flaring up. “It has nothing to do with my implant, sir,” she spat out. “It was the Beacon.”

Reluctantly he spoke up. "I saw it too,” he said, registering Shepard’s look of surprise. “It wasn’t a hallucination.”

Anderson raised his eyebrows. "Both of you will need to report this to the Council." He checked his omnitool. "We should be getting close. Head up to the bridge."

They saluted, and left the comm room.

———

Shepard wandered dazed around the Presidium, more than a little bit lost. The Citadel was bigger than anything she'd ever seen. She leaned on the edge of the railing, and tried not to stare at the aliens that were everywhere on the space station. She saw asari, turians, something she was pretty sure was a salarian, and other species she'd never even heard of. Even stranger was catching snatches of conversation. With her upgraded translator, she could now understand every word of the petty argument unfolding between the two asari on the bench next to her. It was unnerving. They sounded so… human.

She was trying to make her way toward the Citadel tower. When they’d docked, Vakarian had taken off for the turian embassy, and she and Anderson had met up with Udina.

Her lip curled. She was not fond of the slimy little man. And it seemed the feeling was mutual. After expressing his amazement at how badly they’d fucked up, he’d ejected her from his office, keeping Anderson to go over the mission reports. She had instructions to be present at the official Council hearing. If she was lucky, she’d figure out her way there before it was over.

But something was bothering her. Ever since waking up in the Med Bay she’d felt… off somehow. A little bit dizzy, as if the world around her was moving at a slightly faster speed than she was accustomed to. That, and she was getting random mood swings that seemed to come out of nowhere. Grimly she wondered if her implant was finally going sour on her. She was pretty certain Anderson had thought so, back on the Normandy. If Vakarian of all people hadn’t backed her up, she might have been well on her way to one of the infamous L2 psych wards.

She shuddered. All her life she’d been told how lucky she was, that she wasn’t subject to the severe mood swings, schizophrenia, crippling pain that plagued the majority of L2 users. Now, as the walls around her rippled faintly, and she felt a buzz under her skin, she wondered if it was only a matter of time.

“Hey Shepard!” a voice called out. She turned to see Ashley Williams making her way towards her. The woman had been sent to another part of the human embassy upon her arrival, to file the formal report of her transfer to the Normandy, and get in touch with her family. Now, out in the presidium, her eyes were wide as she looked around her, and Shepard smiled inwardly. At least she wasn’t the only one out of place on this station.

“Ma’am,” she said, nodding as she fell into step beside Shepard. “Interested in finding some grub? I’m starved, and even alien food’s gotta beat ship rations.”

“Sure, Chief. I think I saw a cafe back that way.” She tried to convince herself that eating something would stop the walls from spinning.

As they headed toward the Wards, Williams cleared her throat meaningfully. “So, I appreciate you hauling my ass out of the fire back there. But would you mind telling me exactly where I’ve landed? Because between that dead turian, the one they say shot him, and the diplomat raving about a ‘galactic incident’, it’s starting to feel an awful lot like the frying pan. ”

Shepard grinned. “Welcome to the Citadel Defense Force. Where the turians are our allies.” She snorted. “Until they’re not.”

“That why you were aiming a gun at that one back there on Eden Prime, Ma’am?” Williams said quietly. Shepard stopped walking and looked at her.

Williams was assessing her reaction. “Yeah, I noticed that. Didn’t put it in my field report. I figure you’ve got your reasons. All the same though, I would like to know what I’m getting into here.” Her arms crossed, and there was a stubborn tilt to her chin.

Shepard sighed, and rubbed her head. “Come on, Chief” she said, resigned. “Lunch is on me.”

As they made their way inside the crowded cafe, the two women looked with dismay at the completely unfamiliar options on offer. Shepard gazed at the food on the tables around her. The foreign textures and smells made her stomach churn. And then, one particular smell hit her. Suddenly she was salivating, as she watched a plate go by piled high with purple and black spiked ovoids.

“I’ll take that,” she said, pointing it out to the salarian behind the counter. It cocked its head at her. “Are you sure?” it said, and she was taken aback by its high, flute-y voice. “Yeah, definitely” she said, handing over a credit chit. The creature shrugged, took her money, and entered her order into its display screen.

Behind her, as she moved to find a table, she heard Williams order. “Um, just give me a plate of whatever that asari in the blue dress over there is eating.”

They sat, and Williams looked up at her expectantly. Shepard sighed, trying to think of where to start.

“I spent nine years fighting that war,” she said slowly. “There are things that are… hard for me to let go of.” Her hands tightened into fists. “Some things, I don’t know if I can.” She felt her implant began to tingle as she thought of Kaidan. She wouldn’t drag his name into this mess. Shaking her head, she started again. “That turian, Vakarian, he and I have… a history.” She ran a hand up her scarred cheek. “He gave me this.”

Williams’s eyes widened. “And they put you on the same ship?” she asked incredulously.

Shepard nodded. “They told me they needed to keep him angry, and unfocused.” She closed her eyes and grinned. “I’ve been doing the best I can. Almost got him to hit me before Eden Prime.” She shivered, and opened her eyes, focusing on Williams’s face. “But it gets to me too, Chief. Working this close with him. When all I want is the chance to put him in the ground.” She could feel the longing rise up in her, taste it in the back of her throat, acidic and raw. “I had that chance on Eden Prime. It probably would have meant the Alliance got held over a barrel in the long run.” She swallowed. “So I followed my orders.” Same as it ever was, she thought bitterly. She followed orders and got results, and if that meant that half her team died in the process, well, the brass didn’t complain as long as the job got done. “But for half a minute, I let myself feel what it would be like. If I took the chance to end his life.” She shrugged, and managed a crooked smile. “It may be the closest I’ll ever get. They’ll transfer him somewhere else now, and god only knows what they’ll do with me.”

Williams watched her impassively. “I understand,” she said.

“Do you?” Shepard asked, doubt clear in her voice.

Williams nodded. “It’s a crap assignment. The brass wins no matter what. He breaks and kills you, they get to hold it over the Hierarchy. You break,” she looked at Shepard speculatively, “and they can write you off as a loose cannon with PTSD. Either way, they get rid of one the Hierarchy’s best soldiers, and the woman responsible for Pheiros.”

Shepard started at that, and looked up angrily, but the woman met her gaze. “You can’t deny that mission made you a political target. I’m telling you, I get it. They did the same thing to my father.”

Now Shepard raised an eyebrow.

Williams grimaced. “Don’t tell me you never heard of the famous General Williams.”

Shepard’s eyes widened. _Everyone_ had heard of General Williams. His name was either a punchline or an epithet, depending on whether or not your CO had served on Shanxi. “You’re his daughter?”

Williams nodded. “They couldn’t discharge him after he surrendered Shanxi. He was still a general.” Her voice turned hard. “So they kicked him upstairs to a position overseeing the hunt for Palaven’s coordinates. He had to try to hold a base in the Apien Crest.” Her voice filled with disgust. “The brass knew what would happen. The ships in that division were basically target practice for the turian fleet. After a year of having to sit on his hands, listening to the comm feeds while the turian patrols shot his scouting ships out of the sky, he snapped. One of the scouts got caught, and sent out a distress call. He flew in with the remainder of his troops, trying to save them. Hierarchy took them all out.” She swiped the air with her hand, her voice flat. “Alliance picked up some intel, and the General who surrendered to the birds was out of their way.”

They were both silent a moment.

“I was at Shanxi,” Shepard said quietly. “It was one of my first deployments.”  She focused her eyes on her hands in front of her. “That was the mission where I learned what kind of forces we were really facing. If your father hadn’t surrendered, they would have wiped that place off the map. Soldiers, civilians, children. Everything.” She looked up and held the other woman’s eyes.

“Thanks,” Williams said. “I know he’d have appreciated that someone understood.” She dropped her gaze.

A waiter arrived with their food, and the conversation halted for a moment.

When he’d gone, Shepard looked back at Williams. “It can’t have been easy entering the forces as the daughter of General Williams,” she said, new respect in her voice.

Williams grimaced. “Tell me about it. I’m lucky to have made it to Gunnery Chief.” Then her eyes traveled over to Shepard’s plate and she made a face. “Ok, not to get off topic here, but seriously, Ma’am? You’re gonna eat that? It smells like rotten egg mixed with coffee grounds.”

Shepard looked up, surprised. “Huh? I think it smells amazing. Kind of like this fruit I had as a kid…” she trailed off, frowning as she tried to place the memory. After a second or two she gave up, shrugging. She took a large bite.

—

30 minutes later, and she was still vomiting into the restroom toilet. Williams made a reproachful clucking noise with her tongue as she held back her hair. Coughing up what she fervently hoped was the last of her attempt at lunch, she sat back, looking up at Williams with narrowed eyes.

“Yes?” she rasped out.

“I’ll have you know I make it a point never to say ‘I told you so’ to higher ranking officers, Ma’am” Williams said, smirking.

“Smart call,” Shepard got out, before leaning back over the toilet to spit out more of the burning bile from her mouth. Wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she stood up, rocking slightly on her feet.

“So,” she said, grimacing. Then the corner of her mouth quirked up. “You think you can cut the ‘ma’am’ crap, after this? Anyone who’s watched me puke my guts out in an alien’s john has earned the right to call me Shepard.”

Williams smiled. “Only if you call me Ash,“ she said.

Shepard grinned back at her, nodding.

Exiting the stall, she went to wash up, only to be accosted at the sink by a concerned looking asari .

“Oh you poor dear,” the alien said, reaching out to touch her forehead. “I don’t know what that salarian was thinking, selling _grovellis_ to you. Its dextro, of course, so only the turians and quarians can eat it. You humans are so new to the galaxy, and I think it’s just despicable the way people try to take advantage.” She paused, her eyes taking in Shepard’s scar as her hand moved up to touch her hair. “Would you like to come back with me? I have plenty of levo edibles at my apartment. ”

In the mirror Shepard caught Ash’s eye, as the other woman smirked at her and winked.

Shepard reached up and caught the asari’s hand, pulling it back down off her head. “No, Ma’am,” she said through gritted teeth. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.“

She stalked out of the bathroom, the sound of Ash’s snickering ringing in her ears.

——

The Council meeting went about as well as Garrus had expected it to. Which was to say, a total disaster.

He’d almost been late after a random bout of nausea sent him lurching for a trashcan in the office of the Turian councillor. Sparatus had regarded him with concern as he coughed up the meager contents of his stomach. He’d brushed it off as the after effects of being caught near the explosion, but inwardly he was becoming worried. The strange dizziness and mood swings had not abated. He wondered if he had somehow been poisoned. He wouldn’t put it past Dr. Chakwas, if she really had it out for him. She was clearly not someone to be trifled with.

He’d gone over his version of the events with Sparatus before the hearing, and he’d known it was going to be a long shot, but he was still surprised by how much frustration he felt at the way the Council shut the inquiry down. He didn’t give a damn about the colony, or human interests, but the hell if he was going to pretend that Nihlus had been killed by geth. He tried pointing out that he had heard the human say Saren’s name, but Valern just looked at him with his eyes half lidded and declared that he would not disbar their most decorated operative on the testimony of one traumatized dockworker.

The worst was when the humans brought up the Beacon. Under Anderson’s prodding, Shepard haltingly described the vision they’d seen. He could tell the Council members all thought she was nuts. _Not that they’re wrong_ , he thought acidly. For a moment he was lost in contemplation as he tried to trace the steps that had led him here, trying to get the Council to listen to his psychopathic human nemesis. Then he registered the silence around him, and when he looked up all the humans were staring at him, and he realized they expected him to corroborate her story.

 _Spirits_ , he thought, _I am never going to hear the end of this_. He could see the headlines back on Palaven now. ‘Famed Turian War Hero Declared Insane by Council’.

But despite his misgivings, he confirmed her story, describing what he had seen. If it helped to catch Nihlus’ killer, he would make this sacrifice. Sparatus was looking at him like he’d grown an extra head, so he kept it short. Not that it made a difference.

“We share your sorrow that the colony was attacked, and the Beacon destroyed,” Tevos said, her blue face smooth and placid, “and we want you to know that we take the matter of geth movements beyond the Perseus Veil very seriously. But humanity must understand the risks they are assuming by colonizing planets so close to the Terminus. This attack only illustrates the necessity for greater Council influence within the Alliance systems. Imagine what might have befallen the colony had we not sent you,” she finished serenely.

“This is an outrage,” Udina blustered, but Valern cut him off.

“Without proof, our hands are tied,” he stated. “This hearing is adjourned.”

The humans filed out, and Garrus was about to do the same, when Sparatus called him back.

“Vakarian,” he said. “My colleagues wish to ask you some further questions regarding your testimony.”

“Of course, Councillor.”

All three regarded him for a moment, until Garrus began to grow uncomfortable under their scrutiny.

“We are concerned,” Tevos spoke at last. “Without your testimony, we would have disregarded this entire accusation as nothing more than a fraudulent play for power by the Alliance. Indeed, we still find the events regarding the death of your mentor, as well as the destruction of the Beacon, to be suspicious.” She inclined her head. “Do the humans have some sway over you, or are there any other circumstances that compel you to speak on their behalf?”

Garrus choked back his infuriated response. “No, Councillor,” he responded, struggling to keep his tone respectful. “The only thing that compels me to speak is my desire to see Nihlus’ killer brought to justice. I fully believe that Saren was involved in his death.”

Tevos nodded. “Again, we have seen no evidence that implicates him.” She paused for a moment, then went on. “As you know, Nihlus was a strong advocate of your candidacy for Spectre training. Before his death, he had filed many positive reports on your progress,” she said. “However, given the incident you have reported with the Beacon, we believe it would be best if you took a period of leave, in order to fully recover from whatever lingering effects may be afflicting you. After a suitable period of time has passed, we will re-open the prospect of your Spectre status.”

So they were shelving him. Garrus wondered which was more damning, his testimony for the humans, or his description of the Beacon vision. He decided he didn’t care.

“I understand,” he said. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, Vakarian. You are dismissed.” Sparatus rumbled.

\---

Garrus knew of two bars on the Citadel, and only one of them was respectable. After the council meeting, he headed straight for Chora’s Den.

The place was the same old crap hole, filthy and garishly lit, full of seedy characters and half naked asari. Garrus pulled up a seat at the bar.

As he nursed a dextro-whiskey, he contemplated his next move. He wanted to go after Saren himself. But he had no idea where to start.

Then a familiar name caught his ear, and he curiously turned his attention to an exchange between two Krogan at the back of the bar. The bigger one said the name again. Alert now, he eyed them as intently as he could without giving himself away. One was obviously a mercenary, and towered over the other, a bouncer. Garrus listened closely, his heart rate speeding up. There was definitely something going on. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And it gave him something to work with. The Council wanted proof? He’d find it for them.

He slipped out of his seat and walked a few steps away. He opened a link to C-SEC. It had been awhile since he’d spent time on the Citadel, but he still had a few favors he could call in.

“Chellik,” he said, when the detective's head popped up on the holograph display. “There’s a krogan down here in Chora’s Den. Big one, in beat up red armor. I need someone to bring him in for questioning. He has intel on a situation I’m involved in.”

The other turian was surprised, but reluctantly agreed to make the call. Garrus was about about to end the connection, when a thought occurred to him. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to make a move on Shepard without flushing what was left of his career down the drain, but he wasn’t the only turian who wanted her dead. The Hierarchy didn’t run C-SEC, but it was staffed primarily by turians, and he didn’t think a little thing like territorial allegiance would get in the way of their eagerness to take revenge on the woman who’d slaughtered so many on Pheiros.

He deliberated for a second. Their exchange in the cargo bay of the Normandy had only made him more certain that he wanted to be the one to kill her. But he was pretty sure C-SEC officers cared too much about regulations to take things that far. He grinned. He was _fairly_ sure, anyway.

“One more thing Chellik,” he said into his omnitool. “Think of it as a thank you gift for the favor. Guess who’s on the Citadel today?” And he told him.

“I appreciate you bringing this matter to my attention, Vakarian,” Chellik said slowly, his green eyes glittering. “A dangerous war-criminal like that, loose on the Citadel? We’ll need to send someone over right away, just to make sure she’s observing regulations, you understand.” His smile flashed teeth. “No need to inform Executor Pallin. I think me and the boys on duty down here at headquarters can handle this all on our lonesome.”

“I thought you might feel that way,” Garrus drawled, and ended the call.


	6. The Council pt.2

Shepard was frustrated.

After the clusterfuck of the Council meeting, she’d already felt like shoving someone’s head through a wall. But after talking to Udina and Anderson, she was more pissed off than ever that she’d been sidelined into intragalactic politics. As far as she could see, both of them were content to sit by and hope for the best, while the Council was actively taking steps to undermine human colonies.

“What if they’re denying it because Saren is still working for them,” she’d pointed out. “Maybe they ordered the hit on Eden Prime to sabotage our best chance for new technology and our colonization efforts in one blow.”

Anderson shook his head as he paced around the office. “If that were the case, why bother sending us to retrieve the Beacon at all?” He turned and glared at her. “Forget about the Council. We need to deal with Saren.”

Udina had scowled at both of them. “We need proof,” he said. “I want you to start an investigation into Saren’s whereabouts. And take her with you,” he said, gesturing at Ash.

Then he’d given her a contact that had led her to the most pathetic alien species she’d seen yet.

Barla Von wheezed at her through his suit’s filters. “Ah, Earth-Clan. How rare to see your kind here on the Citadel.” Shepard restrained the urge to punt him like a kickball.

The rotund alien was in the middle of telling her about how Saren had pissed off someone called the Shadowbroker, when she heard the sound of heavy booted footsteps behind her. She and Ash whipped around as three large turians in blue armor strolled languidly into the room. One of them jerked his head at the volus.

“Get lost, shortstuff,” he said. The volus hastily obeyed.

The largest of the three stepped forward. “Well, well, well. The Butcher of Pheiros, here on the Citadel. And me with my newly upgraded Avenger.” He brought up the muzzle of the gun until it rested against Shepard’s cheek. “What a happy coincidence,” he said, grinning.

Shepard caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and then there was a meaty thump as one of the other turians socked Ash across the face, wresting her gun out of her hand. The first turian _tsked_ , his small, beady green eyes fixed on her face.

“Looks like your girlfriend just attempted to draw her weapon on a C-SEC officer,” he said, shaking his head with a rueful grin. “Now that’s in clear violation of at least 50 different regs.” The muzzle traced the curve of her jaw, coming to rest under the side of her chin. “Boys,” he called out to the other two behind him. “I do believe we’re going to have to take these ladies into custody.” He leaned forward, his grin growing wider and toothier. “So,” he said, his voice rumbling as his eyes locked on hers. “You gonna come quietly?”

Shepard spat in his face.

She had the brief satisfaction of seeing his expression turn enraged, before the butt of his rifle connected with her temple and everything went black.

——

When she woke up she was in a cell, and her head felt like someone had driven a Mako over it. Wincing, she turned, and saw Ash sitting to her left, sporting a quite a few new bruises and rubbing her bare wrist.

“Morning, Sunshine,” a new voice rumbled, and she turned her aching head to the right. Her eyes widened. The alien in the cell across from them looked like the unholy offspring of a tank and a dinosaur. In bright red armor, no less. _Shit_ , she thought, looking at him, _he’s huge_. Abruptly she was very glad that the turians were the only hostile alien species they’d had to fight in the war.

“You're looking at one of the last krogan battlemasters, kid,” he said in response to her stare. “Show a little respect.”

“Sorry,” Shepard told the krogan. “Looks like I’m forgetting my manners.” She raised her hand up to gently prod the sizable bump on her head. “You got a name to go with that title?”

“It’s Wrex,” he said. He shook his head, and a grin broke out across his scarred and craggy face. “And I gotta say, whatever you did to piss off those turians, I’m impressed.”

“Shepard,” she said grimly, nodding back at him, “and I’m just getting started.” She looked back to her left. “You ok Ash?”

Ash nodded. “They went a few rounds on me, after you dropped. I’ve had worse. Took our weapons and omnitools, though.” She made a face. “Someone must have forgot to tell them we’re all on the same side now.”

Shepard snorted.

Ash sighed. “So I’m guessing this is one of those situations where the turians are not our allies.”

“Affirmative.” Shepard responded. She walked around the perimeter of their cell, and then looked down the hallway. There was one turian on duty that she could see. She smiled. She could handle one. The krogan was watching her, and she found herself turning back to him, still curious. “How’d you end up in here?”

He shrugged. “Not really sure why they hauled my hide down here, but it’s an occupational hazard in my line of work.” At her raised eyebrow, he grinned, and elaborated. “I’m a bounty hunter. Got a contract out here for some dumb shit who betrayed the Shadowbroker.”

Shepard’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t say,” she said.

——

After listening to the rest of Wrex’s story, Shepard felt herself grow calm. The beat of her implant quickened, drowning out the strange buzzing under her skin. She stood up.

“All right!” she said, cracking her knuckles. “Sounds like we’ve got work to do.” _And about fucking time_ , she thought. Ever since waking up on Arcturus she’d been struggling to find her way, playing nice with her enemies while the politicians had her jumping through hoops. Now, finally, her path was clear. It was time to get back to doing what she did best.

“What are you going to do kid?” The krogan asked her, his eyes glinting.

“I don’t know about you, Wrex,” she said, tilting her head as she examined the blue forcefield that flickered across the barred door, “but I’m getting pretty tired of sitting around this jail cell.”

The krogan laughed. “You talk a pretty big game for a human,” he said. “You got the quad to back it up?”

“I have no idea what fuck you’re talking about,” she said, inspecting the distance between the bars. She smiled. “So just watch and learn.”

Then she walked up to the door, calling out to the turian on guard.

“Hey shit-eyes!” she yelled.

That got his attention. He walked over, his mandibles drawn up close to his face.

She gestured back at Ash. “My girlfriend here tells me her sick grandmother hits harder than you and your boys. And that little love tap your captain gave me is making me anxious for the touch of a real man. You think you got what it takes?”

He growled, his voice tinny through the dampening fields. “Listen, you crazy bitch. We’ve got a special room all set up for you. Soon as the captain gets off duty, you’re gonna get all the attention you need.”

Shepard shrugged. “Yeah, I know you turians make all kinds of promises.” She leaned closer the bars, as if speaking confidentially. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I heard on Pheiros. I’m talking full grown men, begging me for mercy, swearing they’d do anything if I accepted their surrender. Can you believe that shit?“ She laughed, her eyes burning as her voice went lower. “And the funniest part was, no matter how many of them I killed, the rest kept right on begging.”

With a choked grunt, the turian brought up his rifle, and keyed a short code into his omnitool. The force field winked out. The second it disappeared Shepard shifted, reaching between the bars to grab his gun and yank him forward. He stumbled, momentarily thrown off balance, and she seized his wrist, jerking him down until his head was in reach. Grabbing him by both mandibles, she slammed his head into the bars. The gun slipped out of his hand, and his body went limp.

Shepard flourished one arm at Wrex in an exaggerated bow. He inclined his head.

“I stand corrected,” he said, appreciatively.

Meanwhile Ash swore, and dropped into a crouch by the guard’s body. “Shit, Shepard, you could have killed him!”

Shepard shrugged. “I mean, they already had us in a cell.”

“Yeah but when this gets back to the Council, Udina is going to kill _us._ _”_ Ash hissed.

Shepard frowned. “I’m done playing this their way. The Alliance knows how I operate. If they didn’t want a body count, they should have put someone else on this gig. Now get his omnitool, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Shepard, this is  _nuts_ ,” Ash insisted, looking up at her.

Shepard sighed, and crouched down beside the other woman until they were face to face. “Ash, its like you said. A crap assignment. Either way, they get what they want. If I’m going out, I might as well accomplish something useful first, right?” She saw Ash waver. “If we can get proof that Saren was behind Eden Prime, that will be enough for me. And look, I promise, I’ll let them know you had nothing to do with it.”

Ash groaned. “Why do I get the feeling it’s already too late for that,” she said, bringing her hands to her temples. Then she shook it off. “All right, fuck it,” she said, moving to strip the omnitool off the unconscious guard. “It’s not like I want to hang around and wait for them to find this guy.” She fiddled with the omnitool, and the door opened. “Come on,” she said, “I saw where they put our gear.”

Shepard looked back at Wrex speculatively. “Still wanna collect on that contract?” she asked. “His lifespan just got a whole lot shorter.”

He gave her an evil grin. “You kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Shepard smiled, ignoring the look Ash gave her as she moved to open his door.

Out in the hall, he motioned to the left. “This way,” he said. “Not that it wouldn’t be fun to shoot our way out the front, but you two look kind of squishy.”

Once they’d made it to the Wards, Shepard turned back to Ash, her face going serious. She nodded back at the C-SEC offices. "I'm guessing our friend back there will wake up to a headache and a dressing down from one extremely pissed off captain. Anyone we meet going forward won't get the same chance." She hesitated. “If you head back to the embassy now, they might still be able to clear your name. Come with us, and thats going to get a hell of a lot harder.”

Ash sighed, looking at her boots. “If you hadn’t shown up on Eden Prime, I’d be dead anyway. I guess everything from here on out is extra time.” She looked up and nodded. “I’m with you.”

Shepard looked at her searchingly. “I need to know that you’ll accept my orders without hesitating.”

Ashley nodded, her eyes steely. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good,” Shepard said, letting herself smile. She turned back to Wrex. “So your guy’s holed up in the back room at Chora’s Den?” Wrex nodded. “Lead the way.”

They set off.

\---

Garrus swore. “You couldn’t even hold her for one damn hour?” he shouted at the officers that filled the empty cell block.

“She attacked one of our officers!” the recruit in front of him protested.

Garrus felt his mandibles clench in exasperation. “So report it to the Council,” he said tersely. “Maybe that will get us clearance to take her out.” He shook his head. “But Spirits, you knew she’d killed hundreds of our soldiers. Did you really think one C-SEC officer was going to slow her down once you had her in a corner?”

After ending his call with Chellik, he’d made a few rounds on the Citadel, checking in on a couple other leads. On his way back to C-SEC he’d felt a sharp pain explode in his head. It had shook him badly enough that he finally went to a local clinic to get checked out. But after a thorough check up, they’d been unable to find anything wrong. He was starting to wonder if the whole thing was some kind of psychosomatic reaction.

He’d continued down to C-SEC headquarters, only to find it in complete disarray, and swarming with angry officers.

Now he cut off the turian in front of him. “Look, I don’t have time for this. Where’s the krogan?”

The officer dropped his gaze, his mandibles jerking up in embarrassment. “He is… also gone, sir.”

Garrus looked at him in disbelief. “They escaped together?” he asked, incredulous.

The other turian nodded, not meeting his eyes. “It would appear that way, sir.”

“Great,” Garrus drawled acidly at him. “Because she wasn’t dangerous enough on her own.”

Leaving the stuttering officer behind he grabbed a handful of clips from a nearby requisitions shelf. He racked his brain, trying to think of where they’d head. The krogan had been trying to intimidate the bouncer into letting him in the back room of Chora’s Den, he remembered. That was as good a place as any to start.

\---

He knew he was on the right trail when he showed up at Chora’s Den and found the place literally covered in bodies. From the look of them, they were part of the crew of thugs run by the bar’s shady owner. He headed into the back room. Fist, the turian gang leader who ran the bar and, if C-SEC rumors were true, half the crime on the Citadel, lay slumped over his desk, shot cleanly through the head.

Garrus kicked him in the cowl.

“You couldn’t have held out for ten more minutes, you crooked bastard?” he muttered at the corpse. He wondered how someone so incompetent had wound up in a position of power in the criminal underworld. Well, it looked like that position was empty now.

He headed back out and through the corridor, trying to think of where they’d head next. Then, as he was about to head back up the stairs to the wards, a sound from the hallway to his left caught his ear. Ducking through a doorway, he immediately dropped into cover, as he took in the standoff below him.

Shepard was there, along with the woman from Eden Prime and the krogan from the bar. But in front of them… He frowned. A group of turians and salarians in mercenary armor stood with their guns out, their leader gripping  a shaking quarian girl.

“Make a move and she dies,” he heard the merc growl out. Garrus could see the quarian’s suit was already damaged. She didn’t have much time.

Quickly he pulled up his sniper rifle, catching the merc’s sneering face in his crosshairs, inches away from the quarian’s helmet. A flick of his talon was all it took, and the leader’s head exploded into a red mist. The quarian girl screamed, and he saw the others launch forward, as gunfire erupted. Switching to his assault rifle, he took off down the stairs, grabbing the girl and pushing her back against the wall, out of the line of fire.

Around him he could see Shepard and her team finishing off the rest of the mercs. He brought up his gun, ready for them, as he saw her turn to face him, her eyes glowing green and her mouth wide in an ugly grin.

“ **Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air**!” a voice blasted over the hallway speakers at maximum volume, and all of them winced.

The small hallway was suddenly flooded with C-SEC officers running in from both sides, weapons drawn. There was a clatter as all four of them belatedly complied.

Executor Pallin strode into the room. “All of you are under arrest,” he spat out. “For aggravated assault on a C-SEC officer, as well as the murder of Fist, his goons, and whoever the hell these stiffs turn out to be.” He shook his head slowly as he took in the scene. “That includes you, Vakarian,” he said angrily, his eyes resting on Garrus.

“Executor,” he said, gesturing to the quarian behind him. “This girl needs medical aid, immediately.” Pallin drew in his mandibles, and was about to respond, when there was a commotion at the back of the room.

“Make way,” a shrill voice cried, and to his surprise, Garrus saw the human ambassador burst through the crowd of officers. Breathing hard, he motioned at them. “These citizens have been granted diplomatic immunity until their case is heard before the Council. That girl has critical evidence for the case against Saren,” and he pointed to the quarian behind Garrus.

Garrus gaped at him in surprise, and then suddenly the dizzy feeling intensified and he felt additional shock ripple through him. He jerked his head toward Shepard. By the look on her face she hadn’t seen this coming either. He frowned at her as the edge of his vision rippled, a terrible suspicion occurring to him. But then he was distracted as he heard the woman from Eden Prime speak up.

“I figured that if I was gonna tag along, I might as well try to cover our asses on the off chance we survived,” she said, grinning at Shepard, and tapping her omnitool.

“Spirits, you can’t be serious” he heard Pallin swear at the same time, shaking his head.

But the little man stood firm. “Everyone needs to report to the Citadel Tower immediately,” he demanded. He nodded at the quarian. “I will instruct a doctor to meet you there.”

Pallin sighed, as he checked his omnitool. “They’ve got clearance,” he said, sounding resigned. He turned back to the squad behind them. “You lot. Cuff them and check them for any remaining weapons, and then escort them to the Citadel Tower.” He waked over to Garrus. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here Vakarian,” he whispered furiously, “but this is one big goddamned mess you’ve got me into, and I’m going to have your hide once the Council is done flaying mine.”

Surrendering his rifle, Garrus made his way once more to the Citadel Tower, this time in cuffs.

———

Shepard savored the look of dismay on Tevos’ face as the recording played out for the whole room to hear. Bowing her head, the asari put a hand to her forehead.

“You wanted proof,” Udina sneered. “There it is.”

“This is… irrefutable evidence,” Sparatus admitted, his voice stiff. Tevos and Valern mirrored his chagrin.

“I recognize the other voice on the recording.” Tevos spoke up in consternation. “It belongs to Matriarch Benezia. She is an exceptionally powerful biotic. She will make a formidable ally for Saren.”

Valern frowned. “What about the Reapers.”

Shepard spoke up. “I think they are linked to the vision I saw, “ she said slowly. “Saren is trying to bring them back through the Conduit, so they can continue the cycle of destruction the beacon showed me.”

She could tell they didn’t believe her. She looked over at Vakarian, but he remained silent.  

“That's impossible,” Sparatus retorted flatly. “Where have they been for the last thousand years? This is nonsense. Saren is clearly using this legend to control the geth.”

Tevos nodded. “We will strip him of his Spectre status and resources. As a fugitive from justice, he will be no threat to you.”

“That is not good enough,” Udina’s gloating voice cut through, and Shepard saw all the Council members wince.

“Humanity has suffered an attack at the hands of one of the Council’s own agents,” the man spat out. “This violates the good faith in which humanity agreed to the Council’s terms.” He shook his head. “Are we to believe the Council had no role in this? What is to stop other agents from going rogue? Not to mention the unprovoked hostilities our citizens received at the hands of C-SEC right here on the Citadel.”

Pallin sputtered. “Unprovoked hostilities? Those women assaulted one of my officers!”

Udina snapped around to face him. “Your officer was injured after Shepard and Williams were detained in an illegal arrest. We have proof.” He sneered. “Barla Von has a security vid set up in his office. I will personally forward you a copy of the recording.”

Shepard was a little impressed, despite herself. This guy was actually pretty good at his job.

His face was smug as he turned back to the Council. “I demand reparations.”

Tevos passed a hand over her face, looking tired.

“We understand, Ambassador, and you are correct. We are willing to discuss what reparations can be made for the failure of our agent, and the Citadel security.” She cast a harsh look at Executor Pallin.

Udina grinned as he began to list his demands. Shepard’s eyebrows rose as he rattled them off. It sounded like the little man was going to get as much as he could out of the lives lost on Eden Prime.

“- a minimum quota of human officers to be hired immediately into managerial positions at C-SEC,” he continued,” And finally,” he paused for breath. “We demand that you induct a human into the Spectres, to track down and terminate your rogue agent.”

Sparatus’s expression displayed outrage, but Tevos held him back with a blue hand.

“Induction into the Spectres is not something we take lightly,” she said, her voice calm again. “All candidates must pass through a period of training, under the guidance of another Spectre.” She turned to face Sparatus, and a look passed between them. “However,” she continued after a moment. “We will grant this request. On one condition.” She turned back, her eyes searching for someone in the small crowd that had gathered. “Garrus Vakarian,” she called out, and Shepard saw the turian jerk up in surprise. She frowned. She didn’t like where this was going.

“Earlier today we placed you on leave,” Tevos said calmly. “Despite our instructions, you acted on your own initiative to help these humans retrieve the evidence against Saren.”

Shepard grinned. It sounded like she’d gotten him in trouble.

“I wouldn’t say ‘help’ exactly, Councillor,” she heard him hedge, his voice wary.

Tevos cut him off. “You worked with her squad to retrieve the quarian, yes?”

Shepard saw him hesitate, and then nod.

Tevos smiled tightly. “Clearly you make an efficient team,” she said, nodding between him and Shepard. Shepard groaned inwardly, as she realized what was about to happen. Again.

Tevos turned back to Udina. “We will agree to induct this woman, Shepard, into the Spectres, and grant her full authorization to hunt down and terminate Saren and all those allied with him. However, we require that Vakarian accompany her, as her mentor. He will provide her with the guidance and knowledge of a full Council Spectre.”

Udina nodded. “That is acceptable,” he declared.

The Council members activated their screens. “Step forward, Shepard, Vakarian,” Tevos intoned. “The Council hereby grants you all the powers and privileges of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch.”

Their interfaces lit up, and Shepard felt her omnitool buzz as the upgrade went through.

Sparatus spoke again. "We will forward all potential leads on Saren's whereabouts to your office, Ambassador."

“This meeting of the Citadel Council is adjourned,” Tevos said, her smile stiff.


	7. The Soldier and the Spy

Shepard was still a little in shock. She'd thought they were going to ship her back to Earth in chains, and instead she'd just been made into some kind of high clearance Council spook.

She followed Anderson and Udina back into the Human Embassy.

As soon as the door closed behind them the little man turned on her, his face apoplectic. "Shepard, if you ever spring a mess like that on me again, I will have you court-martialed so fast that the hardware you've got installed in your head will short-circuit from whiplash," he snarled at her. "Do you have any idea what a colossal fuck up that could have been? Attacking a C-SEC officer? We're lucky the Executor didn't shoot us all down in cold blood in that filthy alley. And you," he said, turning to Anderson. "You're stepping down from command immediately. Someone's got to take the fall for Eden Prime, and it’s not going to be me."

Anderson winced, but nodded his head.

"You will assume command of the Normandy," Udina said, turning back to her.

Shepard's head snapped up. "What?"

"As a Spectre, you'll need a ship to hunt down Saren," Udina continued.

"But sir," she protested, looking over at Anderson. "I won't take your ship."

"As the first human Spectre, you're the only one with the authority to track Saren down. This is your mission now," Anderson said, his voice somber.

"You're beyond the Alliance, Shepard," Udina said. "You answer to the Council, and you represent humanity. That means you are at liberty to achieve your goals through any means necessary. I want you to make use of every available resource." He emphasized these last words, looking at her meaningfully. "Is that clear?"

She nodded, but her eyes darted to Anderson. "Yes, sir."

Udina looked her up and down, his expression dissatisfied. "If had been up to me, I would have chosen someone else. But the Council picked you. Don't let us down, Shepard."

"No, sir," she said.

\---

Outside the office, she fell into step with Anderson.

"Sir,” she said. "This doesn't feel right. The Normandy is your ship. And working with Vakarian?" She spat out his name like it was an epithet.

Anderson looked at her sternly. "You told me yourself you didn't think he had anything to do with what happened at the Beacon," he said. "And Tevos is right. You two have made a remarkably effective team so far."

Shepard scowled at that, but Anderson met her gaze unflinching. "You need to use every advantage you've got to find Saren," he said. "You don't have the luxury of letting this grievance get in the way of that."

She swallowed, but her grief forced itself back up, and the words leaked out against her will. "Kaidan is dead because of him."

"And how many more will die if you let his death distract you from stopping Saren?" Anderson asked. "Do you really think he would have wanted this from you?"

Shepard knew exactly how Kaidan would feel about her using him as an excuse to throw away an opportunity like this. Furious didn't even begin to cover it.  "No sir." She bit her lip, her mind racing. "Did you mean what you said?” she said slowly. “About using every advantage?"

Anderson looked at her for a long time, his eyes guarded. Finally he answered. "Yes," he said. "As long as they're not using you." He sighed, and turned away. "Make us proud, Shepard."

"I'll try, sir" she whispered.

\---

Shepard opened her omnitool. Scanning through the folders she found the messages she was looking for. There had been a few after Aephus, checking in to make sure she was recovering from her injuries. She'd responded to those, albeit curtly.

And then there were the two marked 'unread'.

The first was from the preceding week, when she'd been briefed by Anderson.

_S,_

_By now I assume you've been informed of our withdrawal from the Alliance Navy. I'm sorry you couldn't hear it from me. It was better for you to know as little as possible. Contact me if you want to talk. This address is untraceable._

_Good luck on your new assignment._

_-M_

The other one was from today.

_S,_

_So, first human Spectre? You're moving up in the world. Congratulations, it's about time you got some proper recognition._

_You haven't been in touch. I'm not surprised, but I can't say I'm not disappointed. I want you to know, we're still fighting for the same thing._

_I won't contact you again. But if you need me, you can always reach me._

_\- M_

Shepard pushed her hand through her hair, thinking. Then she brought up her omnitool, and began typing out her message to Miranda.

\---

It had seemed like chance, the first time they met. Later Shepard would come to understand that nothing Miranda ever did was by chance, that at any given time she was keeping at least two secrets; what she wanted from you, and what she was willing to do to get it.

But she had been so green back then, and her stint at the Villa had her half dazzled and more than a little drunk off the feeling of belonging somewhere for what felt like the only time in her life.

After a while her shock at the genuine warmth and camaraderie of her fellow trainees had faded to an amazed acceptance. And suddenly it had not seemed so extraordinary after all, that someone might want to get closer to her, or that she might want to let them.

\---

The establishment known as Bar da Esquina was a small and rather shabby bodega set up on a busy street corner in Rio de Janeiro. Anyone who happened to pass it by day might be excused for thinking it completely unexceptional in every way. But in this they would have been quite mistaken. For it had been adopted as the unofficial bar of the ICA, and at night the place was thick with soldiers, jostling and ribbing each other as they fought over the few scuffed plastic chairs and tables set up on the street. João Diogo, the little man who ran the place, did a brisk business, tucking credits into the brim of his hat and tossing cold beers around to anyone able to stand, and the warm nights spent there were filled with raucous laughter and shouts of "Aqui senhor!"

Shepard had just completed her first round of N-school. That night she and the others who'd made it though had stepped up to the bar, flushed from the applause and cat calls of the higher level N designees and ICT instructors, and signaled João for a round of drinks.

Someone had cleared a chair for her and then pushed her down in it, slamming a filmy brown-glass bottle of cachaça into the table in front of her, followed by several shot glasses.

"Who's like us!" one of them shouted out into the humid night, and the response was overwhelming, as she and every other soldier in the bar roared back "Damn few!" Glasses clinked, and there were groans and curses as the painfully sweet alcohol burned its way down like liquid fire, and then those who could talk rasped out the final response- "And they're all dead!"

Whoops and cheers filled the air, and the night blurred around her as they knocked back shot after shot of the clear, warm liquor.

She'd let her head fall back and her eyes half close, allowing the brightness of the alcohol and the company fill her up until she could feel it glowing out of her skin like a lantern.

Then suddenly someone had whistled, low and suggestive, and a hush fell over the bar.

"I understand congratulations are in order," said an unfamiliar voice.

Shepard swiveled, startled, and found herself looking up into the eyes of the most beautiful girl she had ever seen.

She stepped silently out of the dark, into the faded glow of the little string lights hung up around the bodega. Her hair was pulled forward across one shoulder, and she wore a tight black dress in an angular cut that left her collar bones bare.

 _A tourist_? Shepard wondered hazily. And yet there was something in the easy confidence of her movements that suggested otherwise.

Immediately the bar was humming with appreciation, the rowdier ones pressing in to make their admiration known, and Shepard heard even João mutter "Nossa! Que beleza," as he moved around the tables, replacing empty bottles.

But the girl moved in close next to her, and everyone went quiet again as she leaned down and pressed her mouth to Shepard's ear.

Shepard froze.

"Contact me tomorrow," she whispered, her breath tickling Shepard's cheek. "I have intel for you on your next assignment."

At that Shepard looked up at her sharply, but she had pulled back, her fingers moving rapidly over Shepard’s omnitool.

"So you don't forget," she said, louder this time, her gaze flicking around the bar. Then with a smile, she slipped back into the shadows, and quickly disappeared into the crooked side streets of Santa Teresa.

The whole bar was silent. Looking around at everyone staring at her Shepard felt her old fears flare back to life, wondering if this was it, the moment she'd been expecting since she stepped off the transport shuttle at Galeão. When whatever spell that had hung over the ICT would finally break, the camaraderie fading back into the sullen suspicion, jealousy and mistrust that had haunted every face she'd seen since Pheiros. She tried to straighten her spine, preparing herself for the whispers she knew would come. _Heard she got her whole unit killed_. Despite the warmth of the night, she shivered.

Then someone yelled out "God damn, Shepard!" and everyone was slapping her on the back, laughing and chattering all at once, and the moment was gone, shattered, and the long, relieved swig she took from the bottle in front of her felt like air in her lungs.

The night went on, and long into the early hours of the morning the patter of their voices could be heard as they sat outside the bodega, surrounded by the little winking lights from the homes and windows in the dark hills around them, and brightest of all the Cristo Redentor rising up from Corcovado, his pale frame reaching out in a silent benediction to all below. And high above his outstretched arms, the black night sky hung cold and implacable, calling them back to the stars, to the war.

\---

It was an old ICT joke that the final qualification for N1 was the ability to withstand the massive post celebration hangover that all trainees invariably experienced the next day. Even with her biotic metabolism working overtime to burn off the alcohol, Shepard still woke up the next morning feeling like ten pounds of crap in a five pound bag.

She groaned as she stuttered back into consciousness, her eyelids fluttering weakly, already sweating into her sheets as sunlight filled the humid room. She had a brief moment of intense gratitude for whoever had brought her back to her quarters at the Villa. Running her hand over her face and into sticky hair, she felt her stomach flip, the sickly sweet taste of cachaça thick on her tongue. Shutting her eyes tight, she tried to curl herself back into sleep, but the pounding in her head was insistent and eventually with another groan she pushed herself up, moving blindly toward the bathroom.

Several hours later, when a meal and a shower had done nothing to alleviate the pounding in her head, she was startled by the insistent beeping of her omnitool. Frowning, she brought it up, only to see it was an appointment reminder with someone named 'Miranda'.

Suddenly she heard a short rap on her window. To her shock, when she turned to look she saw that the girl from the previous night was standing next to the open window, in her room.

"You never called," she said, her face managing to be both ruefull and amused.

Shepard dropped into a defensive stance, her implant jangling with nervous energy. This girl was definitely not a tourist. Her eyes narrowed.

The girl stepped back, her hands going up in a supplicatory position. "Please Shepard, I just want to talk."

"About what," Shepard said coldly, her eyes not leaving the girl's face.

"My name is Miranda. And you and I have more in common than you might think," the girl said carefully, and she let a flicker of blue pulse from her hand.

Shepard was taken aback. After her years at brain camp she thought she'd gotten pretty good at recognizing other biotics. There were giveaways you could spot if you knew what to look for: the way they moved, the way they reacted to those around them. But usually the biggest tell of all was attitude. When the majority of humanity treated you like some kind of terrifying aberration, it eventually took a toll on your social skills.

Miranda was different. She was relaxed, confident, seemingly completely at ease even after breaking into a military facility.

Shepard blinked, but kept her hands up. “I’m listening,” she said warily. “You have five minutes before I blast you back out that window.”

Clasping her hands behind her back, Miranda launched into a startlingly detailed description of the extremely classified new mission Shepard had been assigned to just the previous day, after the N1 ceremony. When she started going over weaknesses in the enemy base that hadn’t been in the original brief, something clicked into place in Shepard’s head.

"Sec 36?" she asked.

Miranda nodded, her face impassive as she watched Shepard's reaction.

Shepard frowned, and straightened up. "I appreciate the intel, but this is a highly irregular way to pass it on,” she said. “Why compromise your cover by contacting me directly? Not to mention that display last night.”

“Please,” Miranda said, smiling, “All they’ll remember is a pretty girl trying to get in your pants. And I believe that the benefits of this arrangement outweigh the potential risks.”

Shepard stared at her dubiously. So this was a member of the notorious Section 36? She didn’t look brawny enough to pose much of a threat in a combat. But she must have moved very quickly and quietly to be able to scale that window without tipping the alarms.

“It comes down to this,” Miranda said, folding her hands together. “We’re good at what we do, but we’re still a human organization attempting to infiltrate turian operations. There are limitations to what we can achieve. Even our most accomplished agents can’t set foot on Palaven. So we cultivate opportunities for interception and retrieval further down the chain of command. Speaking practically, this means that when we do discover key intel about their plans, the Alliance has only a very brief window to act before it becomes irrelevant.” As she spoke, she stepped gracefully around Shepard’s room, stopping every now and then to examine her belongings with a casual familiarity that Shepard found extremely irritating. “I believe it will be more efficient to channel pertinent information directly to you, rather than waste precious time by letting HQ analyze it and hand it down.” She picked up a half full coffee mug, sniffed it cautiously, and made a pained face. “How old is this?” she demanded, raising one slim eyebrow.

“A few weeks, at least,” Shepard said. “Not that it’s any of your business.” She scowled. “Why have I been singled out for this special arrangement?”

Miranda set the mug down with a disdainful look at its contents. “Your actions at Pheiros have made you a well known name, and not just on Earth,” she said, turning back to Shepard. “Humanity knows they can count on you to get something done, whatever the cost. But that’s not why I'm here." She paused, her eyes lingering on Shepard’s face. “I have a personal interest in you,” she said slowly, tilting her head. “I know this may sound strange, but I feel I owe you a debt, of sorts.”

Shepard waited, but Miranda didn’t elaborate. “Yeah, I’m definitely going to need more of an explanation than that," she said.

Miranda smiled again. "Of course. I expected no less. Come, sit with me." She dropped down into the chair in front of Shepard’s desk, and patted the bed. Shepard reluctantly took a seat.

Miranda retrieved a small datapad from a pack at her side, and slid it over to Shepard. “It will be easier for you to understand if you see the evidence for yourself."

Shepard looked at her skeptically, but accepted the datapad, bringing up the first document.

Her fingers clenched around the metal rim.

There were five sets of images. Five identical girls.

The first four sets showed the same progression. A fetus, curled up small as her thumb, with various notes and datapoints listed on the side of the image. A chubby baby, all with dark hair, some smiling, some crying. A wide eyed child, an early one sucking its thumb. Then, finally and startlingly, a corpse, lying flat and stiff surrounded by equipment. The first two bodies were missing limbs. The third appeared whole, but her head was misshapen in a way Shepard recognized from her time in the eezo ward.

The fourth was much older, maybe in her twenties. She was laid out on her stomach, and Shepard winced at the gaping red hole in the back of her head where they'd cut her implant out.

The fifth set was unfinished, the last picture showing a somber girl in her teens, her blue eyes not meeting the camera.

"That's me," Miranda said with a crooked smile, tapping the pad with one long, slim finger.

"What the fuck is this," Shepard said, her voice low.

"My sisters,” Miranda said quietly. “All I have left of them."

Shepard looked up at her sharply, but there was nothing in her face to suggest this was a joke. "I don't understand,” she said.

Miranda turned away, tidying the various odds and ends that cluttered the surface of Shepard’s desk. Her long brown hair fell over her cheek, obscuring her face.

“My father is a very wealthy man,” she said. “We were genetically engineered to be perfect. He wouldn’t settle for anything less.  He trained us, pampered us, protected us... " She trailed off, and her hands went still. "Until the day they failed him,” she finished, her voice dull and flat. “After that, he sent them to the labs."

Shepard felt the back of her head start to prickle, and she tensed her shoulder blades. The galaxy was full of sick shit like this, she reminded herself. She'd known what kind of universe she'd been born into, had known it since she was four years old and the doctors took her away.

"What does this have to do with me,” she made herself ask, bringing her eyes back up to Miranda's face.

"Father improved us, every time,” she said in that same flat tone. “I was a success _,_ " her voice sharpened on the word, "partially because of the research done on my sisters. But none of it was enough, until Father had access to the research on you.”

She leaned over triggered another image on the datapad in Shepard’s hands. This one was more familiar, featuring a small, bald little girl covered in tubes sitting up in a hospital bed. Shepard froze.

"Explain," she demanded, through gritted teeth.

"When Conatix published their research on you, Father added it to his prototype. My prototype. Without it I'd be dead," she said, her face shuttering, "or shut up in his labs." She breathed out, staring down hands. "I'll never forgive him for what he did. To them or to me. I can't thank them, or even know them. Most of them died before I was born. But you lived." She looked up, her blue eyes somber.

Shepard looked away, uncomfortable at what she saw in the girl's eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, "I'm not sure what you want from me. The stuff they did to me," she paused and cleared her throat, "whatever it was they learned, I know they tried to use it on a lot of other kids too. It didn’t help them. They all still died. I don’t know,” she had to stop again, her body tensing, but she made herself finish. “I don’t know why I got better and they didn’t.”

"It helped me,” Miranda said. "And you know it helped others too. None of the L3 implementations would have been successful without the knowledge gained from your generation."  

Shepard’s jaw tightened at the mention of L3's, the words stirring up her old grievance. The new L3 users had it so much easier than her generation. She knew that in action, none of them would ever spike as high as she could. But it stung sometimes, to see how easily they were handed everything she'd had to fight to achieve. And of course, none of them had a ticking time bomb implanted in their heads.

But as her eyes were magnetically drawn back to the splayed out bodies on the datapad, she had to admit that for Miranda, at least, it appeared things had not come so easily.

"Even those who died contributed something," Miranda continued, quietly. "In the eezo wards, and in here." She tapped the image of the lab.

Shepard passed the datapad back. “What do you want,” she asked.

"I want to see you succeed,” Miranda said, spreading her hands. “I'd like permission to keep in contact with you. I can be useful to you, if you’ll let me. And perhaps I think it would be nice to have another biotic to talk to, from time to time."

"Come on." Shepard grinned tightly. "Now I know you're bullshitting me."

Miranda shrugged. "I know what it’s like to be feared, Shepard. Even in Sec 36, it’s not easy."

Shepard regarded her carefully as she weighed the offer.

Sec 36 had a shadowy reputation. They acted independently from other Alliance operations, and had a notoriously malleable code of ethics.

 _They want something from you_ , the savvy part of her brain whispered, and she considered what it could be. Miranda was obviously meant to be appealing to her, as biotic and a woman. Still, nothing she’d said had rang false. And direct access to their intel would be a considerable advantage, one she wasn’t sure she could afford to turn down. The bias against L2s meant that she couldn’t always count on HQ trusting her enough to hand it down on their own.

Finally she nodded, her decision made. Whatever the politics of the situation, they were fighting for the same thing. She’d find out what they wanted eventually. Until then, she’d take their intel. And she’d watch Miranda, closely.

Miranda's face relaxed into a real smile. "Thank you,” she said, her voice going warm. “Believe it or not, this means something to me." She tapped Shepard's omnitool. "I'll be in touch again through this address. It's untraceable, but all the same, I'd be grateful it if you didn't go around giving it out. You may of course report the provenance of any intel I send to your superiors, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't reveal any details of my identity. As you know, in my line of work, my chances of survival are only as good as my cover." She smiled again, and started to rise.

"Wait," Shepard said, stopping her with a hand. "This," she tapped the datapad on the desk. "Is it still happening?"

"He's still alive," Miranda said, smile gone, and the ice creeping back into her voice. "He has too much protection for me to take him out. Father only hires the best." She picked up the pad and her face went fierce. "But you don't have to worry about his little side project. It’s done for good. More than that, I'm afraid I can't say."

Shepard met her eyes. "I understand," she said. "Thank you, Miranda. I'll think about... all of what you said."

Miranda nodded, and, flexing her graceful limbs, she slipped through the window as silently as she had entered it.

It was only later that Shepard found the note on her desk, sitting neatly atop the packaged energy drink and medication.

_For your hangover._

_-M_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just want to add in a huge thank you to everyone supporting this fic with comments and kudos!


	8. Promises

 

Sparatus eyed Garrus reprovingly.

"You brought this on yourself, Vakarian," the Councillor rumbled. "Everything since Eden Prime has been one disaster after the next. If Nihlus was still alive, I'd have his hide."

"Nihlus is dead because Saren murdered him, " Garrus said, not bothering to keep the anger out of his voice. "Something the Council seems prepared to overlook."

Sparatus sighed. "I don't like the thought of letting that traitor run free any more than you," he admitted. "But you have to see what a mess this has made with the humans. Spirits, you heard their Ambassador's demands. We're lucky they left us the shirts on our backs."

"So I'm being written off as collateral damage," Garrus said bitterly. "Well, it's a hell of a way to go."

"Listen to me," Sparatus said, his voice going low. "I can still get you out of this." He leaned forward, his eyes furtive. "But you need to ensure that the human doesn't survive the mission.”

“What?” Garrus blinked in shock.

“All you need to do is make it look clean,” Sparatus continued, his face intent. “With Saren and the Geth to deal with, it shouldn’t be too hard to cover up one additional casualty. Do it quickly, and I'll make sure you take over the assignment. Then you eliminate Saren," he paused for emphasis, his eyes locked on Garrus', "quietly and discreetly. And we'll both forget any of this ‘Beacon’ crap you've been spouting ever happened."

Garrus was silent as conflicting feelings warred within him. It was one thing to kill her and face the consequences. Even making it look like an accident... well, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't considered it. But having his actions covered up, and implicitly condoned by the Council as part of some scheme to whitewash Saren’s betrayal? 

He frowned. It was starting to look like maybe his father had been right about the Spectre program.

Sparatus watched him, his expression unreadable. "I'm surprised, Vakarian. After what she did to your squad, I thought you'd jump at the chance to take her out."

"Of course I want her dead," Garrus said, his mandibles flaring. "Killing her is justice, for lives she took on Pheiros and on Aephus. It's all I've wanted since you put me on this damned assignment in the first place." He paused. "But your methods don't exactly line up with my understanding of turian honor."

"Spectres don't have the luxury of honor." Sparatus shook his head. "I'd hoped Nihlus had trained you out of that nonsense, but it’s clear you've spent too much time in the military."

"And you've spent too much time with the asari and salarians, Councilor," Garrus said, his voice hard. 

"Vakarian, this is your only way out," Sparatus said, his eyes shrewd. "Unless you'd rather resign. You're a little young for civilian life, but after your service in the war, I'm sure The Hierarchy will understand if you're not up for any more action."

Garrus snarled. "I won't resign," he snapped. "Not while Saren's still out there."

Sparatus smiled. "Then I suggest you take the time to consider your options," he said. "Now I believe you have a ship to report to," he added, nodding towards the door.

\-----

Garrus walked back into the Normandy. Looking around, he saw that Shepard wasn't back yet. Good. He needed some time to work out his course of action. 

As he headed down to the lower level he noticed a few familiar faces. The quarian girl had joined their crew, to his acute dismay. She was so young, and she clearly had no idea what she was getting herself into. But he had to admit that her knowledge of the geth would be useful. 

The other addition was more worrying. The large red krogan had taken up residence in the lower cargo bay. Garrus nodded at him as he made his way to the Mako

He set up his own makeshift quarters next to the large vehicle. He supposed as the 'senior' Spectre aboard the ship he could have claimed the captain's quarters, but it was already arranged for a human, and their beds were clearly not designed with fringe and spurs in mind.

He leaned back against the Mako, Sparatus' words still weighing heavily on his mind. 

_ It should be easy _ , he thought. Wait for the next firefight, get her alone, and turn on her.  _ Hell, she's probably already planning to do the same to you _ . But he already knew it wasn't what he really wanted. 

What he wanted was her death on his own terms, a kill he could be proud of. Something he could hold up as justice to the memory of his squad, to all the soldiers who'd fallen on Pheiros. A lethal test of skill between two soldiers who'd been circling each other for years, uncomplicated by politics or the shame of lies and treachery. If he was honest with himself, it was what he'd wanted on Aephus.

Ever since their first encounter years ago on Shanxi, her name had followed him through every fight, every planet they sent him to. He'd kept tabs on her exploits as they each made their way up the ranks, respective reputations growing in renown and in infamy. He'd encountered her again on Gellix, where he managed to push her team back until they were evacuated. He’d been bitter for a long time after he'd learned what happened on Pheiros, convinced that he could have stopped her if he'd only been stationed on the asteroid. He’d used the stories of her brutal efficiency as a reminder that he had to be better, faster, so that when they met again he'd be ready to take her down. On Aephus, he thought he'd been given that chance.

Garrus shook his head. It was incredible to him, even now, that the war had ended with both of them still alive. _ It's an imbalance, _ he thought, feeling the same strange dizziness creep over him as he leaned into the Mako,  _ by rights, one of us should be dead _ . 

But instead they were both alive. Working together. And worse than that...

The dizziness intensified, and he rocked back. This was the thing he'd been trying not to think about, the uncomfortable suspicion he'd had in the Citadel alley when he'd felt strange emotions surging through him, and he'd looked over and seen Shepard's face.

_ Spirits, what the hell am I going to do _ , he thought, closing his eyes. It shouldn't have been possible. But nothing the Beacon had done should have been possible, least of all the armies of abominations he'd seen slaughtering an entire civilization. And whatever it had done to him, the effects were only getting stronger. 

Thinking back to Eden Prime made him think of Nihlus, and for the hundredth time he wished to the Spirits that the Spectre had lived. Despite Sparatus' words about Spectres, it had been clear enough to him that Nihlus was an honorable turian.  _ He wouldn't have let me get away with shooting her in the middle of a firefight _ , he thought ruefully. In fact, as he thought back to his brief time serving under the turian, he remembered Nihlus' advice.  _ Address the issue with your fellow officer _ . 

He opened his eyes. Well, why the hell not? At the very least it would help him gauge how soon he could expect their working relationship to turn into a bloodbath. And worst case… well, if she blew him off with more taunts and slurs, it would just make it easier to take the shot the next time they saw action. He straightened up, typing a summons into his omnitool.

\----

He was going through his locker when he heard the elevator descend. Stowing away his rifles, he turned and watched her as she headed toward him, her face giving nothing away.

"You wanted to see me," she said, a familiar challenge lurking in her green eyes.

He looked over to Williams, and the krogan. "Give us a minute," he said. The woman nodded and headed to the far end of the room. The krogan just stared at him, his craggy mouth stretching in a wide grin. 

"Wrex," Shepard snapped. "Don’t be an ass.”

The krogan shrugged. "Whatever you say, kid,” he said, moving toward the elevator.

There was a long silence after he left.

Finally Garrus spoke. 

"So,” he said, stepping back over to the Mako. “Here we are again.” He leaned back against the large vehicle. “It's been made clear to me that if I want to continue my career as a Spectre, I'm stuck with you. I assume you've been told something similar." 

She nodded. "Something like that. I don’t like it much,” she said, “but I also don’t plan on swapping my blues for civvies any time soon. "

“Well, don't count on me skipping out." His anger rose back up in him like bile and he couldn't help baiting her. "After all, I can't let your ugly face be the last record of all my shining years of service."

Her eyes lit up and she gave him that vicious smile again. "Can't say I'm surprised. You never did know when to quit. Be a lot more turians left alive on Aephus if you did." 

Shock and fury raced through Garrus' veins like jet fuel and his hands twitched as he thought about pulling off his gloves, grabbing her by her hair and manually re-opening her scar with his talons. Could still he make it look like an accident, he wondered fuzzily. Maybe claim a geth broke into the ship? Or perhaps a random cargo malfunction?

Vaguely, he registered her satisfaction at his reaction. He forced himself to calm down. She was clearly still trying to goad him into lashing out.

He could play that game too.

"Be a few more humans left as well,” he drawled, meeting her smile with one of his own. "Pity, I heard biotics are rare among your kind." 

That wiped the smile from her face, he was gratified to see, and her eyes darkened with rage. The room spun for a bit, and when it steadied he took a breath, and spoke again. "Seeing as neither of us are planning to resign, there are some things we should discuss. Like how the hell we're going to work together."

She was quiet for a moment, then nodded stiffly at him. She took a deep breath, and looked out over the docking bay. “I want you to know,” she said, with the air of one fulfilling a disagreeable responsibility, “that if the war had ended sooner, it's possible that this could have gone differently.” 

For a minute, astonishment rendered him mute. Then, when he saw she was serious, he barked out a laugh. “Are you kidding me? If it were up to me, you'd be facing a tribunal for the war crimes you committed on Pheiros."

Something flashed across her face too quickly for him to read. "It was imperative that we cut off your armada's fuel lines." She shrugged. "I did what I had to do to take the base."

"You murdered surrendering soldiers in cold blood," he shot back.

"We had intel saying that your people don't surrender without safe camps," she retorted. "I didn't trust them, and I didn't have the time to set up a holding area, or the personnel to waste as guards." 

"So you slaughtered them all. After they'd relinquished their weapons and requested amnesty."

“That's right,” she said, her eyes flashing at him. “I’m not going to deny it.” Her mouth tightened. “I sent scores of my own soldiers to their deaths on that mission. You think I gave a damn about a couple dead turians?”

Garrus shook his head. "Your own people, too? That's all they were worth to you?” He didn’t bother to hide his revulsion. “You really are a monster.”

That got a reaction. “I did my job,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing to slits. He could feel her anger from across the room, and watched as she struggled with it. “Believe it or not, Vakarian, I don't harbor any illusions about the morality of the work I do,” she said. "HQ sends me places where failure is not an option. Maybe things are different in the Hierarchy, but in the Alliance that's brass slang for 'kill everything that gets in your way’.” She glared up at him fiercely. "I shouldn't have to explain that to you. You've killed  _ thousands _ of our soldiers.”

He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Oh, I know," he said, his voice low as he tapped his visor. "I keep a headcount. Right now I’m at 2,671 and a half,” he said, gesturing towards her cheek.

She shook her head in disgust, letting out her breath, and looked out over the cargo bay.

"My point,” she said, her voice going somber, “is that a soldier kills to fulfill his duty. Neither of us had a choice." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "I followed up on you, you know, after Gellix. Your kills are clean, efficient, and numerous," she snorted, "to say the least." She looked down. "I respected that. And if I'm honest with myself I can admit that having such a… competent adversary made it easier to justify what I had to do in order to succeed. However," she paused, then carried on. "I want to make it absolutely clear that there is no question of forgiveness or redemption here. Not after Aephus."

Garrus would have laughed again, but the impulse caught in his chest and died before it could escape. "That’s what you're worried about?" He rocked back against the Mako, shaking his head. When he looked up he shifted his gaze back to her face. "No need," he said, his voice flat,"I'm well aware there's no going back." His eyes dulled. "Not after you killed my entire squad."

Shepard sighed, tracing the edge of the Mako with her fingertips. "And not after you shot the only person in my whole life who meant a damn to me,” she said softly, the wrecked side of her face contorting briefly into a grimace before her expression was once again a calm mask of control.

They were both quiet for a few minutes. At last, Garrus broke the silence.

"Whatever happens, or has happened between you and me, it can’t get in the way of the mission. You saw those… things, from the Beacon. Stopping Saren has to be the priority.”

“We’re in agreement there,” she said, nodding. She shot a quick glance up at him, her eyes narrowing. “Funny. I was pretty sure the Council sent you along to sideline me.”

He gave her a humorless grin. “You know, somehow I don’t think they’d be too broken up if neither us came back from this assignment alive.” 

She laughed. “Threw you under the bus, huh? Well, join the club.”

Garrus didn’t understand the phrase, but her meaning came through clear enough. He grimaced. “I’m not particularly interested in being the Council’s garbage man.“

“And I’m fucking sick of being a political pawn,” she cut in bitterly.

“Hell,” he said, frowning. “I don’t give a damn about all the political bullshit.” He ran a hand over his plates. “And I don't want to restart hostilities between our people. Not with that crap the Beacon channeled into our heads coming down on us.” 

Shepard nodded.

“But I want the chance to settle this,” he gestured between them, his eyes hard. “For good.”

Shepard looked back at him appraisingly. “So do I.”

Garrus smiled, and let out a breath. “Okay. They've got us working together to take down Saren.” He spread his hands. “So let's kill the bastard.” 

She tilted her head, her expression nonplussed.

“It won’t be easy,” he continued. “There’ll be a lot of geth and Spirits know what else standing between us and him. Nothing to say we both make it through. But if we’re both still breathing afterwards,” he shrugged. “Well, I’d say we’ll have earned the right to let personal matters take precedence over politics. So maybe we take a trip outside Council space. Pick a time and a place, somewhere nice and private. And then…” He cocked his talons, mimed pulling the trigger. 

Shepard tensed, but he saw her green eyes light up as she caught on.

He scanned her face intently as he spoke. “What I want to know is, do I need to watch myself, or can I trust you until that time comes?"

She thrust out her chin, her head turned up to his. "I won't be looking for ways to shoot you in the back, if that’s what you're worried about," she said stiffly. "I want you to see me coming for you."

Garrus jerked back involuntarily, blinking at her. Then he figured it out, and started laughing long and hard, leaning back into the Mako for support. When he could breathe again, he caught her glowering at him. He grinned. "You ah, might want to re-think your phrasing there. My translator just took that somewhere wild."

She spat out something his translator made gibberish of, her face murderous. "I didn't think it was possible to want to shoot you more than I already did," she said, flushing.

Garrus slowly let the smile drop from his face. "So it's a promise. No forgiveness, no redemption."

"We pick a time, and a place, and we finish it." She let out a sigh that sounded almost relieved. “I can accept that. It won’t be easy,” and she flashed him a savage smile, “but I can wait until Saren's dead.” She paused. “But the day after that..."

Satisfaction coursed through him. She understood. He leaned in close to her, sub-vocals rumbling. "Day after that I take your face all the way off, Shepard." 

Her scar writhed as her mouth turned up in a ghostly shadow of the terrifying red smile he still saw in nightmares.

"You can try," she snarled.

Nodding at him, she stepped back, and made her way to the elevator.


	9. Scars and Scorched Earth

Shepard leaned against the side of the elevator as it carried her back up to the crew deck. She let out a breath. That had been... unexpected.

She’d received his message while pouring over the meager leads the Council had sent them. A few spread out geth sightings and an asari scientist rumored to be hiding out somewhere in the Artemis Tau cluster was not much to go on. After forwarding their agenda to her new XO, she'd headed down to the cargo bay, anticipating another tense stand-off.

Instead, he'd offered her the thing she wanted most.

It felt right, somehow. She'd finish this job, and then they'd find someplace private and... she smiled. If the brass wrote her off after that, so be it. She'd take whatever crap detail they stuck her on. And if they discharged her, well, the way her implant was acting up it might only be a matter of time. She frowned, her fingers reaching up to trace the port at the base of her head.

The strange dizziness had only gotten stronger. Down in the cargo bay with Vakarian, she'd felt the room tilt at one point, and the mood swings were back worse than ever.

Her omnitool went off, jerking her out of her worries. Her eyes narrowed when she saw who it was. Hurrying out of the elevator, she quickly headed for her quarters. When she had the door securely locked behind her, she accepted the call.

Miranda's face popped up holographically in front of her. Shepard put a finger to her lips. "Hold on," she said, and activated the cabin's music system, turning it loud enough to cover their conversation. She didn't think the place was bugged, but judging by what she had seen on the Citadel, it was better to be safe than sorry.

When she turned back, she saw Miranda's face was pained.

"Oh, Shepard," she breathed out, her wide eyes locked on the left side of her face. "I heard it was bad, but this..."

Shepard shrugged. She'd never been particularly vain, though growing up it had bothered her that her appearance made her seem fragile. Her delicate features had led to a few misunderstandings over the years, when some assumed that the slim girl they saw was as pliable as she looked. She'd worked hard to put on muscle. A twice-broken nose had helped, and the shotgun and body armor certainly didn't hurt. She let a hand drift up to her face. The scars suited her better.   _Lets them know what to expect_ , she thought, fingers tracing the line.

She'd never had much luck with men, anyway. The ones she attracted were always the wrong kind, pulled into her orbit by the scent of old blood and bruises.

In her experience, the rest tended to be intimidated at the thought of fucking a woman who could tear them apart with her mind.

Luckily, Shepard was catholic in her tastes.

"I'll have you know some women find facial scars attractive, Miranda," she said dryly.

"Still," Miranda said, with a reproving look. "I had hoped the Alliance would take better care of you."

Shepard smiled sharply. "Restoring my good looks isn't high on their list of priorities right now. Haven't you heard?" She crossed her arms. "They've got a rogue paramilitary group to deal with."

The woman's face wiped clear of expression. "I stand by our decision."

"Your defection, you mean." Shepard said, her voice hard.

"That's hardly accurate," Miranda said archly, a slight smile on her lips. “We were not a part of the Alliance Navy. Our organization worked with them to achieve mutual goals. However, it has become clear that our interests no longer align."

"And yet you claim we're still fighting for the same thing."

" _We_ are." Miranda said insistently. "I know you Shepard. You can't tell me you believe that allowing the Council to govern our development is anything but a mistake. The Alliance can hand over as many troops as they want, but Cerberus has no intention of following suit."

Shepard frowned. "Cerberus? Is that what Sec 36 is calling itself these days?"

Miranda nodded. "We have operatives working in cells all over the galaxy. Your admirals may have labeled us defectors, but the majority of our supporters are high ranking officers within the Alliance. We already have people on the Citadel, and we're in the process of placing agents in turian, salarian and asari space." She took a breath, and met Shepard’s eyes. "But we need your help."

Shepard's mouth twitched. Here, at last, was the hook she'd been waiting for since that day in Rio, so many years ago. She kept her expression casual. "My help?"

"As a Spectre, you'll be given access to high clearance Council projects and areas of alien space no other human has breached. The intel alone would be invaluable. And more than that. " Miranda’s gaze turned piercing. "I don't know what they have you working on, but I know it’s big. We sent our own people to go over Eden Prime. I've seen the forensics. There's no way what happened there was caused by one rogue Spectre."

Shepard snorted. "Did everyone with brains defect to your side? I've been telling the brass that for days, and I swear they just look at me like I'm crazy."

Miranda flashed her a brilliant smile. "Well, we do cherry-pick the best and brightest." Her eyes narrowed. "And that includes you, Shepard. Join us. You can be so much more than what the Alliance sees in you."

"Say I did," Shepard mused. "Who would I be working for?"

"I would be your handler," Miranda said smoothly. "You would relay all critical information through me."

“Not what I meant," Shepard said, shaking her head. "I want to know who runs the show."

The smile was gone from Miranda's face. "You know I can't tell you that."

“Why?" Shepard asked flatly, arms crossed.

"I told you. We work in cells. We only have contact with our handlers, and the team we're working in."

"So who is your _handler_ ," Shepard pushed back. "Who recruited you, Miranda?"

Miranda hesitated. "I.. can't say."

Shepard smile twisted. “Is that really the best you can do? Because all I'm hearing is that you're the agent of a rogue organization with possible terrorist connections, trying to coerce me into turning traitor. I should report you and everything you've told me right now."

Miranda flinched.

"Believe it or not, we do go through training for situations like this,” Shepard said. “Going by the book, I should have told you to piss off years ago."

"Why didn't you," Miranda retorted, recovering.

"I don’t know," she muttered. Miranda gave searching look, and she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "You came from a situation that was beyond fucked up, but you're still a strong biotic and a formidable tactician." _And the most beautiful woman I've ever seen_ , she did not add. "Hell, in a lot of ways I relate to you. And I know that in your own way, you've been honest with me over these last few years." She paused, watching the woman's face go still and smooth.

"But you don't trust me," Miranda finished for her, eyes hard. "I've never lied to you, Shepard.”

"It's not that," Shepard said carefully. "I believe that you've been straightforward with me. The intel you've sent me has been invaluable." Miranda blinked, and Shepard winced, hastily amending. "I'm sorry, that’s not what I meant. The support that you've provided, tactically and ...emotionally.” She broke off again. "Christ, I'm terrible at this. What I'm trying to say is that whatever ulterior motives you may or may not be harboring, you've been a good friend to me, Miranda. And I've never really had many of those." She took in another breath and looked up again. "But that doesn't make you any less dangerous."

Miranda was silent, but Shepard saw her jaw tighten.

"I work for the Alliance,” she continued. “I know where my orders come from, and what we're working towards. You, on the other hand... well, I have no idea who you really work for. What they want. And even though I'm sympathetic to the views you claim Cerberus represents, I know enough to suspect their methods. I can't just assume that their goals align with mine because you say so, Miranda. That would be incredibly naive."

"I understand," Miranda said stonily.

"I hope you can," Shepard said.

Miranda took a breath and looked up. "I do," she said. "Given the circumstances your reaction makes sense. And you're right. In your current assignment, any known connection to me would be a liability. But you may find it easier to put your trust in an unknown once you've seen more of what we're up against. The Alliance is used to dealing with the turians. Their culture is barbaric and parochial, but they at least understand the concept of honor. Can you say the same of the asari? Or the salarians?" Miranda paused, bringing her hands together in front of her. "You need to understand that there is a whole galaxy of species out there who can and will resort to underhanded tactics to get what they want. The history of the Council is by no means as benign as they'd have us believe. Think of what they did to the Krogan. Whatever they say about unity and peace, their main concern is maintaining their own authority."

Shepard nodded. "We're in agreement there." She ran a hand through her hair. "I'd like to trust you, Miranda. A lot of what you've said resonates with me and, well," she grimaced, "this whole assignment is such a mess that I'd be grateful for your perspective. But you're not giving me enough to work with. I won't betray the Alliance just to become the puppet of a shadow organization."

Miranda was silent for a moment, then slowly shrugged. "You talk about betrayal. But how loyal has the Alliance been to you, Shepard? I've seen the comments that go in your personnel file. If you hadn't managed to parlay the Citadel incident into being made a Spectre, we'd be having this conversation from a cell. Or somewhere worse," she said pointedly. "You know they don't have much use for biotics who cause trouble."

Shepard stiffened, but refused to take the bait.

Miranda sighed, and continued. "I'll talk to my handler about your concerns," she said, "but I know what the answer will be. Cerberus is not the Alliance. We’re a black ops group, and our strength is in our anonymity. We can't afford to be transparent. If we start revealing identities, we put everything at risk." She reached out for something out of range of the hologram. "The best I can do is try to show you our good faith with actions. I'm forwarding you a list of leads we hacked from Saren's personal accounts. We've seen a lot of activity on a Salarian owned corporation world, Noveria. We've sent our own people there, of course, but they've been stonewalled. Perhaps your new clearance will allow you to succeed where we have failed." She offered Shepard a small half-smile. "We have a contact there who knows you by description. She'll get in touch to offer you any aid she can onsite."

"Thank you," Shepard responded, a little taken aback. "I have to admit, I'm surprised your superiors would authorize you to assist me."

Miranda’s smile went crooked. "We have as much at stake in your success as the rest of humanity, Shepard. And whatever the Alliance may think, I know you're not crazy."

"Thanks," Shepard said, and meant it. She ignored the sudden urge to reassure the woman. Miranda's beauty was undoubtedly part of the reason she was such an effective field agent, she reminded herself sternly. "I'll add Noveria to our agenda. We're currently en route to-" she caught herself just in time, and Miranda grinned at her, " a classified location," she finished, through gritted teeth. "But I assure you, I will investigate this lead once we're done." She paused. "Take care, Miranda."

The woman nodded. "You too, Shepard."

Shepard ended the call and sighed. It had been an impossibly long day.

Setting her omnitool to alert her in six hours, she let herself slump back into the bed that until recently had belonged to her commanding officer. At least she hadn't had to fight Vakarian for it, she thought as she closed her eyes.

Sleep came more quickly than she expected.

——

In her dream, Shepard is back on Aephus. She's been here many times before, endlessly retracing her steps, the broken windows and shattered concrete calling out warnings she has no choice but to ignore until the trajectory of the nightmare plays itself out to the inevitable conclusion. She tries to brace herself for what will come but the spot in her chest where Kaidan's memory lives is an open wound and she can't be stoic about his death, not in life and not here.

But this time it is different.

She does not see the barracks, the white faces of the soldiers as they realize the attack she warned them about is coming after all, the opening number signaling that her own personal tragedy is about to play out in front of her eyes once again. Instead she's moving through the wreckage of Aephus, above ground, at night (- _but that can't be right, scouting trips never happened at night, it would have been suicide-_ ). There is no sound but the air still rings with the faint echo of the bombs that have leveled this colony, singing out in a high pitched whine that lingers just beneath the frequency her ears can register.

She moves like a ghost through the crumbling city, its decaying architecture illuminated by the light of the stars and the flares her team distributes through the wreckage (- _her team?-_ ). As they move they cast shadows that circle around them on the broken walls like memories of the people that once lived here, soft and wraithlike in the faded orange glow of the flares.  As her eyes adjust she recognizes certain landmarks, like the large, rounded entrance to the mining facility, its entry passage demolished years back by Alliance-set charges, entombing the workers who remained trapped inside. And to her left she can make out the dented metal foundation of the communications tower, which has been bombed so many times, by both sides, that the ring of blackened earth surrounding it is scorched and bare, all other detritus long since blown away.

Even with these two markers it's hard to orient herself when faced with the vast expanse of ruins that stretch out as far as the eye can see. Buildings that were once distinct and varied have been rendered into a uniform series of wrecks by years of mortar and gunfire.

War has rebuilt Aephus in its own image.

And yet she has the strange feeling that she knows exactly where they are heading.

She leads them into the blown out shell of an apartment building, down crumbling stairs until in what was once a basement she finds the gaping black maw of a tunnel. The flares lighting their way, they silently push forward, her palms trailing across the rough earth along the sides of the shaft until at last they hit a wall. With steady hands she attaches the sticky plastic explosive, setting the detonator before retreating back. The charge goes off with a dull thump that reverberates back through the narrow passage. Then she steps through the cracked wall, and into a gray corridor.

Now she recognizes her surroundings perfectly.

She is back in the base.

By the muffled crackle of gunfire that rumbles out from somewhere further down the hall she can tell the fighting is already underway.  But she moves purposefully, pushing forward until she finds the ladder that will take her up to the maintenance shaft. She sends her infiltration team into position in the mess hall, to provide covering fire when the rest of the squad enters. She sets up her gun and waits, focused on the entryway, the noise of battle growing louder. Her squad runs into the room, calling out the numbers as they take cover. Then their pursuers enter, hot on their heels, and she smiles as she catches one in her scope, his face magnified until she can make out the expression of victory as his eyes seek out his quarry.

He never has time to realize his mistake.

Her finger barely moves on the trigger, and then she watches, satisfied, as his head splits apart, the view in her scope going red as his features explode into gory shards of meat and bone. His body hits the floor with a dull thump and she is already moving, searching for her next target, until she locks on the head of a woman crouching behind a broken wall shouting orders to the rest. And then, as she readies her gun for the shot, the woman's head rotates toward her and through the faceplate she can make out familiar green eyes staring back at her-

— _and she realizes with shock that she is looking at herself—_

-there is a sharp wrenching feeling, and when it passes her consciousness is hovering somewhere above the scene, watching as it fades out, dissolving around her, but she can still hear the sounds of the battle, and then comes a loud crack that she recognizes, flinching-

_…_

Shepard woke up with a jolt, her implant crackling and her bed a mess of twisted, slightly singed sheets. She immediately threw herself back against the wall of the cabin, arms going forward defensively as she braced for the shot to connect. Her face twisted as she felt her scar burn at the memory, her mouth abruptly full of the bitter taste of gun-smoke and blood once again. She closed her eyes and spat, taking in a deep breath of the recycled ship-air, forcing herself to recognize where she was.

 _It's just a nightmare_ , she told herself. She shuddered as she ran a hand through her sticky hair, willing herself to calm down one heartbeat at a time. Trembling slightly, she lowered the hand down to touch the side of her face. It was scarred, but whole.

Shepard swallowed, and let her muscles relax, sagging back against the wall. _What the fuck was that_ , she asked herself, mustering up annoyance to cover the waning dregs of panic. _You were supposed to have gotten this crap out of your system back at Arcturus_. She made herself scowl, still breathing quickly.

She turned to look at the clock by her bed, and tried to let out all her anger and fear in one long breath. Two hours until they were scheduled to hit the Artemis Tau Cluster. As good a time as any to get up.

Pushing herself up out of bed, she headed for the showers.


	10. Unwelcome Surprises (or 'Exit, Pursued by a Maw')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I know guns all had unlimited ammo in me1, but since they ditched that concept in 2+3, I'll be sticking with clips.)

_“Be strong, saith my heart. I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”_

_\- Homer_

 

They were hovering over Edolus when the signal came through.

"Commander, I'm picking up something from the planet's surface. It looks like an automated distress beacon," Joker called out.

Shepard breathed out a sigh of relief.  They'd been searching the Artemis Tau Cluster for days now. They had already painstaking examined every habitable planet in the Athens and the Macedon systems, and found no trace of the asari scientist. By the time they got to Sparta, she was ready to rip her hair out.

“For the love of God, tell me it’s from the asari,” she said.

"Sorry, Commander," he said, "but unless she shacked up with a platoon of Navy grunts, I think those odds are slim. I'm registering the signature of an Alliance ship down there somewhere."

Shepard frowned. While there were several Alliance colonies in the Traverse, this was much further out than most human vessels would normally go. What could have brought them out all this way, she wondered.

“Looks like we’ll be going down to investigate,” she said, heading for the elevator. “Take us in, Lieutenant. I’ll set up the drop.”

____

Her brisk pace slowed to a halt when she reached the end of the cargo bay. Vakarian was already suited up, and leaning casually against the Mako.

“Heard we found something down there,” he said. “About damn time.” He jerked a talon toward the Mako. “Back seat’s all yours.”

"I did extensive training on this model back at the Villa Militar," Shepard said, her arms crossed.

"And I look forward to seeing you put it to use behind the main gun," Vakarian replied with an infuriating calm.

“Thought you were supposed to be some kind of sharp shooting hotshot," she snapped.

"Guilty as charged," he drawled, with a mock bow. “However, as your Council appointed mentor, it's my duty to impart unto you an age old Spectre trick. I call it 'learning how to aim worth a damn'."

Shepard struggled to rein in her temper. She knew that technically he outranked her. He hadn’t made any real attempt to push the issue yet, but she’d figured it was only a matter of time. They'd been locked in an uneasy truce since their last meeting in the cargo bay, and had so far managed to keep any outright hostility to a minimum. But her nightmares had her on edge, they'd been searching fruitlessly for days, and she was itching to start a fight.

Which, she was pretty sure, was exactly what her was trying to goad her into doing.

She forced a casual shrug. "Don't have to aim if you're right up in their face.”

"If it's too much gun for you, we'll switch groundside," he said, settling into the driver’s seat.  

Shepard gritted her teeth as she climbed in behind him. She fervently hoped there’d be something for her to kill when they got down to the planet’s surface.

She heard him keying in the drop sequence.

"The old girl can fit one more,” he called out. “Who do you want to take?"

Shepard paused to consider her options.

The quarian girl was out. If it had been up to her, she wouldn’t be here in the first place. Udina had insisted they bring her along, despite her protests. Never mind that the girl was barely out of her teens, with no combat experience to speak of, and had all but admitted that her main agenda was sending intel back to her government. Add in the part about her being an Admiral’s daughter, and the whole thing became absurd.

Then there was Ash. She was certainly capable. Hell, the woman fought like a tank in battle. But she had fought with tough and competent people before. Not many could withstand the kind of missions she took on. Somewhat to her dismay, Shepard found she was growing fond of the resilient, mouthy soldier. After the events of the Citadel, she had half hoped that Ash would transfer back to a routine deployment, or at least take some shore leave. But instead she had signed on to the Normandy. And now Shepard found herself reluctant to bring the woman she had saved along with her into danger.

She was being an idiot, she knew. Ash was a soldier, after all. But all the same her eyes skated past the figure at the workbench and over to the craggy, hulking alien further down the bay. She appraised him speculatively. That was better; a thousand year old mercenary built like a god damned dinosaur. If anyone could keep up with her, it’d be him.

"Wrex,” she said quickly, her decision made.

Vakarian sighed. "I said one. Your krogan friend takes up the space of three."

"If you're shy about rubbing elbows with the krogan mercenary, there's always the back seat," she said pointedly.

"Just tell him to get in," she heard him snap back at her, and she grinned as she climbed into the gunnery.

____

**Edolus**

 

They hit the surface in a cloud of dust.

Shepard did a quick perimeter check through the gun's scope. The desert plains stretched out before her, glowing a sour mustard in the faint light, like the landscape of a bad dream. The sky was obscured by clouds the same brackish yellow as the dust that hung thick in the air, and they pulsed and roiled ominously above as the Mako moved forward.

More than ever she wondered what the hell had brought an Alliance crew out here. Even with the advances made in terra-forming, this planet was clearly not remotely suitable for colonization.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of something moving, and she swiveled quickly, but it was just one of the many chunks of debris they'd seen in orbit falling down through the planet's atmosphere, a streak of black and red slicing through the muddy yellow glow. _I guess this place pulls you in whether you like it or not_ , she thought.

"All clear," she called down. But she kept the scope moving around them as they rolled forward.

"I'm picking something up on the scanners," she heard Vakarian call back. She tensed up, her fingers curling tightly around the massive gun's triggers, ready to fire at any moment.  

 _'Old Spectre trick',_ she thought. _I'll show you, asshole_.

But nothing cropped up in her line of sight except the crags and mountains of Edolus, trails of yellow dust billowing in wisps from the peaks.  She could hear the wind now, feel it pushing against the sides of the Mako. "I've got nothing up here," she said.

"Whatever it is, it's not moving," he called back. He paused. “It’s not far out of our way to the distress beacon. It may be nothing more than debris," he said, and she heard his talons tapping against the HUD of the Mako, "... but I think we should check it out, all the same."

"Affirmative," she called back. It always paid to be thorough in enemy territory. And she had the feeling that was exactly what Edolus was turning out to be.

They continued on in silence until at last she could pick something out on the horizon. "Something coming up on the left," she called down, zooming in through the scope. She frowned. "Looks like a body."

They pulled up to the side of the crumpled figure. Shepard double checked her suit seals before climbing out to stand with the others. The harsh, eerie light of Edolus turned Vakarian and Wrex into looming, faceless statues as they stood still in their hardsuits, and she was suddenly reminded of how much larger they both were than her.

Shaking her head she stepped forward, fighting the wind resistance to reach the withered body. She hunched down over it, her eyes narrowing.

It was small, the right size to be human. But then she saw the shape of the head and limbs.

"Not one of ours," she said, then checked herself, remembering her company. "Not human, I mean." She leaned in closer. "Not turian, either, unless this is what you guys look like under your plates."

She felt Vakarian drop down beside her, watched him scan the corpse. "It's Salarian," he said curtly, his voice crackling through the squad channel in her helmet. She saw him pull something from around its neck, and hold it up in the dim light. She squinted. It looked like a set of tags.

Abruptly, he stood up. "Wrex," he said, "take a look at these." He tossed them over to the krogan.

Wrex stepped forward, examining the tags. His growl came through the channel loud and clear, and she felt her implant prickle.

"STG," he said with disgust, tossing the chain back to the ground beside the corpse.

Vakarian leaned in and recovered them. "I thought so,” he said, his voice pensive.

Shepard scowled. "Somebody want to fill me in here?" she said, not bother to mask her annoyance. "What's STG?"

Vakarian chuckled mirthlessly. "That you don't already know shows how well they've been doing their job." He turned back to face her, his faceplate dark and empty. Shepard crossed her arms impatiently.

"We are looking at the earthly remains of one ‘Captain Milon’, of the Special Tasks Group," he drawled out, dangling the chain toward her. She grabbed it from him. "That would be the Salarian's own private espionage network. I hear the Council uses them too, on occasion."

Shepard frowned, looking at the obscure markings on the tags. "I thought Spectres handled the Council's business."

She heard Wrex's bitter laugh ring out across the squad channel.

"Sure kid,” he said, stepping forward. “Spectres handle the dirty work when the Council wants somebody killed in a straight-forward fight. Like this little operation,” and he gestured toward her and Vakarian. “Your kind tends to be pretty predictable when it comes to problem solving. In my experience, it usually involves a lot of bullets.”

Shepard watched him moved towards the corpse until he was staring down over it.

“But sometimes the Council wants a different kind of solution,” he said quietly. “Something handled covertly, with the kind of finesse you don't get from your average Special Tactics and Reconnaissance hatchet man."

He lifted one massive boot, bringing it up to hover over the dead salarian’s sightless eyes.

"Something like, for instance, the sterilization of an entire race."

He brought his foot down hard, digging his heel deep into the salarian’s eye sockets. With a sickening crunch the head of the desiccated corpse gave way, crumbling apart into the yellow earth.

Wrex casually wiped his boot off on the ground. "That's when they call in the STG," he said, turning away.

Shepard could sense Vakarian tensing up to her right. Though the conflict had happened over a thousand years ago, it was clear there was still bad blood lingering between the two species. She held out a warning hand to him.

"I see," she said carefully. She stepped towards the angry krogan. "I appreciate the information, Wrex.”

Her mind went back to what Miranda had told her earlier that week. Not for the first time, she wondered if she had made the right decision in turning down her offer.

“There's a lot about this galaxy that's not what it seems," she said, looking between him and Vakarian. "But we need to focus on the mission." She nodded back at the corpse, crossing her arms. "So, anyone care to venture a guess as to how our friend Captain Milon, lately of the STG, wound up out here in the ass end of nowhere?”

"You got me, kid," Wrex said, shrugging. "Nobody around here to poison or knife in the back, far as I can see. "

She felt Vakarians’s exasperation, but his words came out calm.

“Well, it’s an unclaimed planet. No ship in sight," he said, gesturing around them. "I'd say it’s a pretty sure thing he's been dumped." He looked up, eyeing a falling chunk of fiery debris as it cut a thin red swath through the turbulent sky. “Might even have been spaced. With the gas giant pulling everything this way, it wouldn’t take much for him to end up down here.” He nudged what was left of the body with his boot. “I can't get a read on how long he’s been dead, though. He looks pretty far gone, but in this environment it could have been anywhere from a year to week."

Shepard deliberated. "Okay," she said finally, coming to a conclusion. "I say we leave the body. We've got enough to deal with without trying to solve the mystery of the dead salarian.” She heard Wrex snort. Vakarian looked like he was about to object, and to stop him from arguing she tossed the tags back at him."You want to do something for him, take those with you. Report it back to our esteemed bosses on the Citadel."

She saw him nod, and tuck the tags into his armor.  

"For now, we need to keep moving towards the distress signal."

The sun shone dimly through clouds the color of gangrene as they strode back towards to Mako.

_____

It lay much lower in the sky before she finally caught the flicker of the distress beacon in the distance.

“I’ve got a visual on the signal,” she called down to the others. "About 4 klicks to our right.” She paused, then gave in to the urge to say what had been on her mind since he’d started driving. “Should only take us about another hour to get there at the rate you’re going.”

She heard Vakarian grunt in annoyance. “You can’t just careen all over the place in a vehicle of this caliber,” he protested. “You’ve got to treat her with respect.”

Shepard rolled her eyes. “Treat her any more respectfully we’ll still be heading toward the signal this time tomorrow," she muttered under her breath.

As they approached, the land flattened out into a broad, circular valley. In the middle Shepard could make out the distress signal, and a craft that looked like an Alliance scout ship. She could detect no movement other than the flashing light of the signal, glowing a faint greenish blue through the haze of yellow dust in the air.

 _This is wrong_ , she thought to herself, frowning.

Suddenly the Mako made a hard right, throwing her against the side of the gunnery chamber.

Vakarian's voice rang out from below. "What the hell are you doing?"

She scrambled down from the gun's controls to find Wrex had grabbed the wheel.

"Saving our hides, you stupid pyjack!" the krogan growled back. He struggled to maintain control as Vakarian tried to wrest the wheel back, causing the Mako to accelerate off the side of a hill, slamming into a ditch and then teetering sideways. Shepard barely had time to to bite out another oath before she hit the wall again.

 _Well,_ she thought, a little dizzy from the impact _, so much for respect_.

"What the fuck is going on down here," she shouted, after she had righted herself in the back seat.

"Your krogan friend seems to have his own ideas about where we're going," Vakarian said, his voice tight with frustration.

"Wrex," Shepard said, struggling to keep hold of her patience. "Something you want to share? Because I have to say, this is a pretty odd place to stage a mutiny."

Wrex snorted. "This isn't a mutiny. This is me trying to keep you idiots from getting us killed."

"By driving us into a ditch?" Shepard snapped, her hold on her temper slipping and her implant humming in her skull. “Vakarian, tell me, do krogan go senile?”

Wrex shook his head, looking up at the ceiling. “Live for a thousand years and you just might wind up senile enough to agree to go on a mission with a couple of whelps too stupid to know when they're driving into the middle of a maw's nest.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow and had just sucked in a breathe to respond when an ominous rumbling shook the earth.

Well," Wrex said with a tense grin, as he buckled himself further into the seat, “never say I didn't warn you."

Seconds later, with a shriek that made her skin go cold, a gigantic brown and blue monster erupted from the earth, churning clouds of yellow dirt into the air.

Shepard swallowed her words.

As if on its own accord, her head swiveled until her wide eyes met Vakarian's suddenly emphatic blue ones.

"So... switch?" he said.

Shepard blinked.

And then they were both moving faster than they ever had in their lives. Shepard scrambled over the back of the seat and fell half into Wrex's lap, rolling towards the gears. One of Vakarian's armored spurs caught her in the face as he hauled ass back up the other way to the gunnery, but she didn't stop to think about it, instead grabbing the wheel and slamming on the thrusters, spinning the Mako into reverse. There was a hissing, popping sound followed by the sharp, sweet stench of melting alloys, and when she looked down she saw the Mako's HUD had lit up like a christmas tree.

"We need to reach higher ground, NOW!"" she heard Wrex shouting at her as she spun them sideways away from the looming monstrosity that hung over them.

Something bright caught her eye and she looked up.

Mechanically she registered that the monster’s blue tongue was dripping with unspeakable fluids, that its dark, toothy gullet stretched wide enough to swallow their vehicle whole. Her eyes were stuck to it, glued to the sight of its horrific gaping jaws, how it writhed in the cloud of dust that hung in the air as if it were swimming towards them through the murky gloom. It was so much worse than anything she had ever seen, anything that she had ever prepared herself to see.

Then a hard glove cuffed her roughly on the side of her head.

“DRIVE!” Wrex roared.

Shepard drove.

 _Just go_ , she told herself, as her foot went down on the accelerator like a thousand pound weight. _Don't think, don't look, just get the hell_ _out of here._

She zig zagged the wheels of the Mako, ignoring the vehicle’s rusty squeal of complaint, as they took off up the mountain. There were a series of loud bangs from above, and she heard Wrex chortling next to her.

"You know, he really does shoot pretty well for a turian," he said, nodding appreciatively, his head tilted to watch the retreating figure of the monster flail as it took a few rounds to the face. It let out a shattering, bowel shaking scream and Shepard shuddered. “But don't tell him I said so," Wrex said conspiratorially as they lurched full speed up the crags.

There was another ripple as the earth moved under them and when Shepard dared to glimpse back she saw the nightmarish creature drawing itself back down into the earth. When it didn’t come back up for several minutes, she cautiously let her foot come off the accelerator. Breathing heavily, she looked over at Wrex questioningly.

"Oh, it's definitely not dead, if that’s what you're wondering" he said, his tone almost cheerful. "I'll give it to the turian, he's a crack shot, but it'll take more than one or two hits to bring down a Thresher Maw."

"Thresher Maw?" Shepard managed to get out.

Vakarian took that moment to pop his head back down. "We aren’t moving," he growled. "Why the hell aren't we _moving_."

"Don't have a panic attack, turian,” Wrex said, grinning. "I'll protect you."

Shepard took in a deep breath. And then another one, for good measure. She turned to face Wrex.

"You've fought those... things, before." It was not a question.

Wrex flashed her a toothy smile through his helmet. "Killed one on foot at my Rite. Now for a pair of first timers, normally I'd recommend using the Mako." He tapped the HUD. "But it doesn't look like we'll have that option."

Shepard looked down and swore. Every section of the Mako’s HUD was lit up with red flashing lights. "If we take another hit like that, this thing will come apart," she said grimly. She slammed her hand down on the wheel. "What the fuck is it hitting us with?"

"Acid." Vakarian responded automatically, one hand rubbing his faceplate. She turned to glare at him, and he sighed. "We're briefed on them in basic.”

"Yeah? Do they brief you on how to avoid driving _right into the middle of their god damned nests_?" she shouted back at him, incredulous.

"Like you would have known any better," she heard him grumble as she shook her head in amazement.

"So," Wrex said, still grinning. "What's the plan, team? Are we going to fight it, like warriors? Sit here and gripe at each other until it gets bored enough to try another round? Or is this the part where you both tuck tail and run screaming back to the ship?"

"You can't be serious-," Garrus sputtered, but Shepard sighed, her fingers going up to tap the side of her helmet in a futile attempt to run a hand through her hair. Then, steeling herself, she reached down and put the Mako into reverse again.

"Really, Shepard?" she heard Garrus drawl out, his voice strained. When she ignored him, he continued, shaking his head in disbelief. “Spirits, I knew you wanted me dead, but I didn’t realize you were desperate enough to drive us both straight down the throat of a damned _Thresher Maw_.”

"We need to disable that signal," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “That’s the mission.”

“So shoot the damn thing!" He snapped at her. "Hell, even you should be able to hit it from this distance!”

Shepard gritted her teeth. “I want to find out who planted it at the center of a monster’s nest,” she said. “No way it was the marines. They'd be dead before they even tried. Somebody set this up as a trap. And I don’t think it was for us. Look," she said, turning to catch his eyes. "If nothing else, I need to get the ID’s off those bodies. Without it, they'll all be listed as M.I.A. You know what that means.”

She thought of all of the soldiers who’d died under her command. She hadn’t been able to save them, but she’d made sure that their sacrifice was recognized. That was her responsibility. She knew that as a turian he would understand this at least. She'd seen as much in the way he'd treated the dead salarian.

Vakarian sighed and slumped back into the seat. "All right," he said. “But as your mentor, I feel like it's my job to tell you this is a really stupid idea." He turned to Wrex. "How do we kill it?”

"Didn't cover that in your training, turian?" Wrex snorted.

"No.” Vakarian drawled back. "We were trained to _avoid_ them." His tone was dry but she could detect an undercurrent of irritation. "Attempting to fight one with anything less than a fleet of gunships is generally regarded as an act of madness. So please, explain to me how the three of us are going to kill a Thresher Maw.”

"Same way we kill everything else," Wrex said, grinning. "Big guns."

——

Shepard rolled them slowly back down the side of the mountain. For all that the rational part of her mind was screaming at her that this was a suicidal, idiotic thing to do, the anticipation of the fight ahead had set her blood thrumming in her veins and her implant singing with excitement. It was something she didn’t like to consciously admit, but these were the situations where she felt most alive. When the only options were kill or be killed, she could loosen the tight yoke of control, and let the power inside her dictate her movements.

But this time she fought to keep herself from slipping easily into the blood haze that beckoned and whispered enticingly. In that state her biotics became a second skin she wore, an extra limb that she wielded without thinking, and Wrex had cautioned her that relying too much on energy attacks against a maw would only get them killed.

He and Vakarian were crammed uncomfortably close beside her in the front seat, guns loaded, ready to evacuate at the first tremor of movement. Per Wrex’s instruction, all of them had raided the supplies left in the Mako for extra medigel. Since shields were all but useless against the acid (she’d noticed the Mako’s were still in full effect, despite the damage eating away underneath), Vakarian had rigged up a tech workaround that let them divert the power toward extra medical interface upgrades. They had each equipped as many as their hardsuits could handle.

Shepard felt a bit naked without the familiar hum of her barrier. Disabling your own shields went against pretty much everything the Alliance had drilled into her in basic. But then again, she figured there wasn’t much she’d learned in basic that was going to help in a fight against a gigantic, acid spitting sand worm.

Finally, the front wheels of the Mako edged out onto flat ground. Cautiously she took them out further, meter by meter, her hand hovering over the reverse.

“Easy,” Wrex cautioned from her right. “If it surfaces directly underneath, there won’t be enough of us left for the scavengers to make a meal of.”

“I got it,” she said through clenched teeth.

She had them a few yards away from the mountain’s edge when she felt the telltale rumble of the ground beneath them.

“Go!” she heard Vakarian shout, as Wrex growled out, “Now!”

Shepard slammed her hand down the reverse, backing them up rapidly. The wheels screeched as they sped backwards. She didn’t breathe until she felt the Mako’s back wheels hit the edge of the slope. And then they were careening backwards up the mountain at top speed, watching as as the Maw surfaced directly underneath the spot they had just been. _That was too close,_ she thought, sucking in her breath. But it wasn’t over yet. With a jerk of the wheel, she swerved the Mako sideways.

“Ok, now move!” Wrex shouted, shoving Vakarian out the door on the right. Shepard followed last, and she heard the familiar hissing sound that meant the acid was incoming. She dropped out the door and rolled away from the Mako, just as the projectile hit. The vehicle started smoking as the corrosive liquid ate away at its exterior.

Vakarian and Wrex were already in position on either edge of the Mako, taking shots with their assault rifles.

“Nice one,” she heard Wrex call over to Vakarian appraisingly.

She jogged up the hill until she could see it’s head over the top of the Mako. Pulling her pistol up, she opened fire.

It was like firing on a mountain, with about as much effect. All three of them were shooting directly into it’s face, and the giant worm barely showed signs of noticing. She hissed out a shaky breath. Well, they’d known it wasn’t going to be easy.

They fell into a sort of rhythm. One of them would fire at it to get its attention, then duck back behind the Mako when it aimed at them. While it was focused on hitting them, another would lean out and fire.

After five or so rounds so rounds of this, Shepard was wondering which would last longer, the Maw or their ammo stores. Worse yet, the sun had sunk down to touch the horizon. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if they had to fight it in the dark.

“Hey Wrex!” she yelled out, dodging back into cover and reloading. “You sure about this strategy? We’ve filled thing thing with enough plasma to pop a tank!”

“Frankly I’m beginning to think it likes the taste!” she heard Vakarian call back over the roar of gunfire.

Wrex just growled at them. “Keep your barrels up! Whining won’t kill it any faster.”

Shepard snarled and rolled back out to empty yet another clip into the towering monstrosity. It turned its head in her direction, and she ducked back into cover just as it let loose a stream of the corrosive bile. It hit the corner of the Mako, splattering in all directions. _Shit_. She’d been careless.

“ _g--hvi--AKK_!” She heard a voice spit out a couple of unintelligible syllables, partially obscured by the hiss of her translator glitching.  When she whipped her head around she saw Vakarian scrabbling at the bubbling plate of his gauntlet. Then she was distracted as a searing pain started burning through her own arm. It was all she could do to stifle a scream. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, waiting for her hardsuit to automatically dispense medigel to her wound.

Nothing happened.

 _Fucking brilliant time for a suit malfunction_ , she thought angrily, and quickly began stripping off the plates of her suit up to the elbow. She retrieved a dosage of the healing gel and began to administer it manually.

And then stopped, looking down at her own bare arm.

There was no wound.

She stood there, immobile, as her mind tried to the reconcile the contradiction between what her eyes saw and what her body was telling her. The pain was real. She could feel it shouting insistently that the evidence of her eyes was flawed. That in reality there was a smoking raw wound, skin and sinews dissolving into goo where she saw only the whole, unblemished flesh of her forearm. She ran her other hand disbelievingly over it, half expecting it to come away red with blood. Nothing.

Unbidden, her head turned back to where Vakarian crouched, his wrecked arm plate discarded and his arm covered in medigel. The feeling of cool relief that washed over her was eclipsed by the terrible suspicion that reared up in her mind. In panicked flashes she thought of the unusual dizziness, her unexplained sickness, the _dreams._ As her fears swelled into certainty, she realized with awful clarity exactly what it was that had been happening to her for the last week.

No. It was impossible.

She took three shaky steps toward him, saw him look up, catch her staring at him, her fingers still wrapped tight around her own unwounded arm. He met her eyes. She saw no confusion, no irritation at the fact that she was apparently stripping off her armor for no reason. Only a look of resignation.

He _knew_.

Her vision went dark around the edges. For a moment she could feel the horror and rage filling her throat, so viscous and thick she almost gagged.

Then the monster screeched, and she remembered where she was.

Cursing furiously, she strode forward and took up position with Wrex near the edge of the Mako again. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Vakarian reaching for something. She could still feel the ache in her arm, but it was dulled, and she focused her energies on simpler things, like firing slugs into the monster that still hung dauntless in front of them, screaming and spitting in fury.

She used up one clip. Then another one. She was loading her last into her pistol when she heard the same sharp _crack_ that had echoed through her nightmare. She flinched reflexively at the sound, ducking down against the side of the Mako before she realized that this time the shot wasn’t meant for her.

Vakarian had used the distraction that she and Wrex had provided to set up his sniper rifle. While some part of her would always loathe the sight of this particular gun, the one that had taken so much from her, the practical part of her was cheering as she watched it unload another round into what passed for the Maw’s head. He ejected the spent clip and reloaded in one smooth, practiced motion, and another shot rang out.

Miraculously, it was enough.

With final blood chilling shriek, the Maw collapsed, keening and writhing into the yellow earth. It twitched once, twice. And then it was still.

“HAH!” Wrex crowed, triumphant. Slinging down his rifle he crossed over and threw one tremendous arm around each of them. “Congratulations kids! That’s how it’s done.” He shook them, grinning. “The ryncol’s on me tonight.”

“Fantastic,” she heard Vakarian reply weakly.

Shepard still felt like vomiting, but she swallowed and met the krogan’s ferocious grin with a wan, pale imitation of her usual snarl.

“You were right. Big guns for the win.” Even to her own ears her voice sounded ragged and hoarse.

Wrex nodded sagely. “ Every time, kid.” He tilted his head at her. “You ok? Didn’t see you take a hit out there.” He looked curiously at her bare arm.

“S’fine,” she said, struggling to speak clearly. “Vakarian’s the one that got hit.”

Wrex turned back to him, and clapped him on the back so hard he staggered. “Thought we were going to have to kill that thing in the dark for a minute there! Ha!" He grinned. "You’re all right, Vakarian. For a turian.” His face turned speculative. “And of course, as the one who took the killshot, you’re entitled to the head meat.”

She heard Vakarian swallow. “That’s, ah, that’s really great Wrex.” She watched him scramble for an excuse. It would have been funny if she couldn’t still feel the remnants of his pain throbbing through her own arm like shards of glass.

 _How is this happening_ , she thought, and winced, letting her head drop into her chest.

“…but until we find a dextro Thresher Maw, I’m afraid you and Shepard will have to accept that honor in my place,” she heard him say.

Shepard snapped back up to find Wrex looking at her expectantly.

“Uh-huh. Wrex,” she said, forcing herself to focus. “Why don’t you go um, harvest,” she suppressed a shudder, “whatever you want from that thing.” She nodded at the remains. “Vakarian and I will check out the distress signal.”

Wrex shrugged. “Suit yourself.”  He jogged down the slope the the smoking corpse.

With a sigh, she started walking down too.

She could feel it when he started following.

The setting sun cast the planet in shadows as they passed the smoking remains of the slain maw. They walked in silence toward the signal, struggling against the rising wind, snapping on their omnitool torches as the light faded. With no moon to light the sky, they were soon walking in almost complete darkness.

Shepard finally reached the distress beacon. The flash of its signal revealed a mess of corpses and shrapnel in pulses of garish blue light. Each strobe burned a new detail of the scene into her brain: an outstretched hand, a charred boot, and everywhere the slag of melted flesh and bone, where the acid had done its job.

“Nasty piece of work,” she heard Vakarian say over the squad channel.

Shepard ignored him for now. Whatever they had to say to each other could wait until after she had dealt with the dead.

She examined the bodies. They had died far from home, well beyond hope of rescue or extraction, but she could at least make sure their families were notified of their passing. Carefully collecting each ID tag, she looked fruitlessly for evidence, training her light on their twisted forms. _Poor bastards,_ she thought, stooping to cover the staring eyes of one corpse with his helmet’s visor _._ They’d never stood a chance.

Pulling herself up, she walked around the site. She examined all the refuse for any sort of indication of who had laid this trap, but there was nothing.

Her face hardened as she turned towards the beeping distress beacon, still transmitting it’s siren song out to the galaxy. She crouched in front of it, recording it’s make and model number, poking at it with the fingers of her bare right hand. Nothing distinctive. She scowled, and with an effort managed to refrain from driving a biotically enhanced fist straight through it’s hard drive. It only took few moments to deactivate it the proper way, and then the dead were plunged back into darkness.

She stayed crouched down in front of the now lifeless signal a little longer than was strictly necessary, closing her eyes as she braced herself for what came next. Part of her wanted to shy away, pretend this wasn’t happening. But at last, she stood up to face Vakarian.

He stood with his back to her, his silhouette illuminated by the glowing LED’s in his hardsuit. When she walked forward to stand beside him she saw his head was tilted up towards the sky. She looked up too.

The cloud cover was too thick to see the stars. The red light from the falling debris illuminated trails in the sky with an eerie orange glow that faded as they dropped lower into the atmosphere.  As she watched its dimming trajectory, a strange feeling of deja vu settled over her. She frowned as the image flickered at the very corner of her consciousness, teasing her with its familiarity. _Where had she seen it before_.

Then her breath jerked in, and in her head she saw again the low, orange light of the flares, burning brightly in the bombed-out city of her dreams.

 _No_ , she corrected herself angrily. _His dreams_.

Shepard pulled her gaze sharply back down to where he stood beside her. His head was still tilted up, and facing him now she could see the reflection of the burning wreckage gleam across his dark faceplate like falling stars.

 _Oh_ , she thought, suddenly, remembering the shadows she’d seen in the ruins, the wraiths that had followed her down the tunnel. _His team._

She had killed them, of course. Her own memory of that night was washed out and vague, an old vid reel full of impersonal images of destruction and death, but what she had left was enough to know that their deaths hadn’t come easy. Her eyes closed and she saw the muzzle of her gun planted deep into a turian’s mouth… she shook her head quickly. They had both lost things on Aephus that night. Better not to dwell.

She took in a breath. Then she opened a private channel between them.

“How long have you known.”

His head dropped. He walked away a few paces, and she watched him dispassionately survey the damage. “I didn’t know-”

“Bullshit,” Shepard cut in.

She saw him shrug. “I guessed,” he said softly. “Back on the Citadel. Things haven’t,” he paused, searching for the words, “ _felt_ right. Not since what happened on Eden Prime.“

“The Beacon,” she breathed out, putting it together. “ _Fuck_.”

He craned his head at her, and his voice came out wry. “Frankly I’m surprised it took you this long to notice. It’s been like having a swarm of pissed off insects buzzing around my head all damned day.”

She snorted. “You get used to weird crap like that when you’re a biotic.” She raised her bare hand to the back of her helmet to rub the spot above her port.

“So what happened,” he said, gesturing at her arm. She glared at him, and then at his wound.

“What do you think,” she snapped. She took a step towards him, and paused. Then she shook her head. “This is unacceptable,” she said, gesturing between them.

Vakarian stared right back at her, nonplussed. “What are you going to do? File a complaint?” He crossed his arms. “Nobody fully understands how Prothean technology works. And it’s not like you can just ask one. The bastards went extinct 50,000 years ago. ” His next words gave voice to the possibility neither of them wanted to admit. “We may be stuck like this.”

Shepard didn’t want to consider the implications of that. _One mission at a time,_ she thought, desperately. Then she took that thought further.

“The asari,” she said, thinking quickly. “She’s supposed to be some kind of Prothean tech expert, right? Maybe she can help us with whatever the hell this is.”

He gave no sign that he’d heard her, and she saw his shoulders droop. “How are we going to fight Saren like this,” he said quietly. “Today was bad enough. If one of us got seriously wounded, and the other was incapacitated in the middle of a firefight…”

Shepard took a deep breath, waited for her heartbeat to steady. She glared at him through her faceplate. “Fine,” she said. “Piss off back to Palaven then.”

He started, his head jerking back up. She crossed her arms. “Find yourself somewhere nice and safe to hole up. Keep a low profile. I don’t need anymore fucking surprises,” she said, holding out her arm for emphasis. “But I can finish this mission on my own.”

Vakarian barked out a laugh. “No,” he said curtly, his shoulders straightening. “You don’t get off that easily.” He looked back up at the sky. “We had a deal. I’ll keep up my end.”

“All right,” she said, pulling up her omnitool. “Then let’s get hell off this planet. We’ve got a job to do.”

Vakarian nodded slowly. Then he grinned. “Better hurry. I think Wrex is planning a barbecue.”

They both looked over at the krogan moving around the massive carcass, his bulky figure illuminated by the lights in his hardsuit. Shepard grimaced.

She opened a comm line to the ship. “Normandy, this is Shepard, requesting a pick up. I’ll need a repair team. Level 5 hazmat suits,” she added guiltily, thinking of the acid still dripping off the Mako, “and notify Doctor Chakwas that we’ve got injuries.” She paused, considering. “Tell her to do an extranet search on the term ‘Thresher Maw’.”

After a few moments of static, she heard Pressly’s voice come through. “What was that search term, Commander?” His voice sounded oddly distracted.

“Thresher Maw,” she said again. “Don’t worry, it’s dead. Sending you our coordinates now. Over.”

“Roger that, Commander, we’re on our way.” Her XO paused for a moment, and then continued. “Commander, there’s been a… development while you’ve been planetside.”

Shepard’s eyes narrowed. “Brief me.”

“We’ve been receiving transmissions from multiple sources detailing an attack on a nearby Alliance colony here in the Traverse. They remain unverified as of yet but-“

Shepard’s jaw locked and she hunched over her omni-tool. “Pressly. Is it Saren?”

“Unlikely, Commander,” he said. “There’s been no mention of geth sightings. The news vids are calling it a pirate raid. However, the reports I’ve seen are frankly… disturbing, to say the least. I recommend that you review them immediately upon your return.”

Shepard frowned. Pirate raids were a common enough occurrence. She wished she could blame it all on the aliens, but gangs of human mercenaries had been shaking down the outer colonies long before the incident at Relay 314. There had actually been a significant drop in criminal activity during wartime, when the Alliance had let it be known that they were implementing a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ approach toward unidentified vessels discovered within their borders. It had helped that the turians apparently hated pirates even more than enemy troops, and the few they bothered to take alive were summarily executed, no matter their species. Since the war had ended she had suspected the raids would pick up again. But that one had managed to spook a seasoned officer like Pressly was cause in itself for alarm.

She switched abruptly back to the main squad channel. “Wrex,” she said. “Barbecue’s canceled. We’ve got trouble on the ship. Be ready for pick-up.” She cut it off in the middle of his grumbling, and switched back to the ship’s comm. “Where’d they hit, Pressly?” She asked, her eyes now glued to the sky as she impatiently awaited the ship’s arrival.

She could just make out the lights of the Normandy descending through the clouds as his answer crackled into her headpiece.

“Mindoir, Commander.”


	11. The Bunker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this is violent. 
> 
> (ps- as this chapter covers Mindoir, I couldn't help throwing in references to two of my favorite Mindoir background Shepards, though the authors may not thank me for it :). See if you can guess which ones!)
> 
> (pps- if you want something else to read, I did a blog post awhile back on some of my world-state headcanons for this story.)
> 
> ([sad headcanons can be found here)  
>  ](http://tetrahedrals.tumblr.com/post/94551264286/au-headcanons-pt1)

Kill if you must, but never hate:

Man is but grass and hate is blight,

The sun will scorch you soon or late,

Die wholesome then, since you must fight.

 

Hate is a fear, and fear is rot

That cankers root and fruit alike,

Fight cleanly then, hate not, fear not,

Strike with no madness when you strike.

\- Robert Graves

 

\---

Shepard entered the ship through the airlock, leaving Vakarian and Wrex to assist the Mako repair crew.

She knew it was going to be bad when the doors finally opened and she was met by the blank eyed stares of the navigation team. Even Joker was pale and uncharacteristically silent, his hat in his hands and his eyes glued to the incoming feeds.

As she strode out of the decontamination chamber, Pressly greeted her with a rigid salute.

"Commander," he said, "We've had a report from Arcturus. Batarians have raided the colony on Mindoir."

"Give me a breakdown of the situation," she said, pulling her spine straight despite the protests of her aching muscles.

"Batarian raiders attacked at 0300 hours. Early warning detection systems had been sabotaged. The first alert we got was from from the colonists who made it to the security bunkers. Alliance sent in troops to aid them, but they're meeting heavy resistance. They're still down there, now."

"And the Hegemony?" she said, arms crossed.

"Claiming they're not involved. They say it’s a rogue group unhappy with human expansion in the Traverse."

"Right," Shepard snorted. "The Alliance is buying that?"

"So far, Ma'am." His face was grim.

She frowned. “And what about all our damned Council allies?”

"With all due respect, Ma'am, politics aren't my forte. The ANN has been covering it non stop, they can give you a better analysis of the galactic reaction. If you want to get an idea of the scope of the attack," he shifted a bit, tugging at his collar, "Arcturus has forwarded us some confidential footage from the ground. It's, ah, not exactly fit for general consumption." He looked back at her, nodding at the crew. "You understand. Most of the crew has already got a pretty good idea of what's going on down there. I figured there were some things they didn't need to see."

"You did well, Pressly," she told him, and saw him relax. "Forward it to my private terminal. I'll review the footage in my cabin."

He saluted. "Yes, Commander. I'll see that you're not disturbed."

Shepard nodded, stepping past him and moving quickly towards her quarters.

More than anything she wished she had time to shower. The decontamination field might have nullified any harmful bacteria, but the stink of the thresher maw was strong on her armor and the yellow grit of Edolus still clung to her boots. Stripping off what she could, she slung herself down into her chair.

Her head had the ominous hollowed out feeling that usually preceded the worst of her migraines. She brought her hand up to the back of her neck. Her amp was hot to the touch, and she could feel her implant ringing with all the pent up energy that had been useless against the maw. It was going to be a bad night, she thought, wincing.

She looked at the vids cued up on her terminal. Her mouth straightened to a thin line. Letting her hands drop down from her head, she pulled herself upright. She hit play.

...

The vid was spliced together from footage taken by security cameras inside one of the colony's defense bunkers. It looked like it had been rendered in grayscale, the florescent lighting washing out skin tones, featuring a monotony of dull brown work clothes against the same gray concrete prefab the Alliance was building all over the Traverse. Shepard saw room after room full of huddled people, mostly adults in beige farming garb, some holding children close. None of them were armed, she noticed, frowning.

The screen flickered through several similar tableaus, and Shepard had all but given up trying to pick out identifying details when she was surprised by a sudden spot of color. She leaned forward.

At the edge of the screen she saw a red headed girl leading an older woman in a bright yellow dress. They were moving quickly towards a corner of the room. Before she passed completely out of view Shepard saw the baseball bat half hidden at her side. _Good girl,_ she thought, biting her lip.

The vid cycled through more identical rooms, and she lost track of the pair in the crowd.

More people were moving. Some of them were speaking, but Shepard couldn't make out the words. The sound from the feed was muffled by static and the indistinct chatter of many people talking at once.

There was a flat, deadened noise in the background that Shepard barely noticed, until it came again. It was hard to make out over the din of the crowds, but it was slowly growing louder. She saw the crowd react, shifting subtly as the sound reverberated through the room.

The background chatter died down, and the vid went eerily silent, punctuated only by the ringing thuds that came at irregular intervals. She watched the faces on the screen flinch with each repetition. She felt her own muscles tense in preparation of what was to come.

Then there was a noise like a cork popping, and a bright light flared up from the corner of the screen in a fuzzy corona that wiped the feed white. It stuttered and hissed for a few seconds, lost in grey static.

When it returned it had lost sound.

The room it showed was mostly empty, aside from the unfortunate few who must have been standing too close to the source of the flare. Their bodies lay slumped on the gray concrete, some still twitching feebly. The next few rooms were a chaotic mess, people pushing and shoving past each other in a frenzy to escape.

By the time the vid had cycled back to the first room, the batarians had entered the bunker.

Shepard focused on the pack of them, eyeing their guns, their tarnished armor, trying to pick out the make of their weapons. Her lip curled as she sized up their gear. _Rogue group my ass_ , she thought. Whoever was backing these ‘pirates’ had the money for top quality equipment.  

She watched dispassionately as they moved through the room, making short work of any among the fallen who still drew breath. Before long, none of the slumped bodies were moving.

As she sat at her desk, watching them shoot their way through a crowded room of civilians, Shepard struggled to find the anger, the burning glow that had fueled her through so many fights. But the only thing she felt was an overwhelming fatigue.

The thought came unbidden and insidious, creeping through her mind in time to the building pain in her head.

 _What are they to me_?

She tried to stifle it, but her resolve crumbled under the weight of her own exhaustion, and she felt the waves of nausea start rolling through her as the migraine began in earnest.

 _Pathetic farmers, too frightened to die fighting_.

She knew what the shrinks back on Arcturus would have said about that. Her jaw tightened, remembering those sessions. She'd made a point of saying the right things, mirroring back the emotions they'd expected to see. Of course, the irony of it all got to her from time to time. The Alliance had trained her to cut through the enemy like a biotic chainsaw, to use the light she had been born with to sunder flesh and bone, bringing death to all those who stood in her way. If they wanted her to feel empathy too, well, that was their problem.

Still. _The deaths of civilians are a greater loss than those of soldiers_ , she tried to tell herself as she watched the batarians make piles of the dead, stripping away valuables, chaining up prisoners.

But the words rang hollow. The truth was that now, watching the slaughter of the colonists, she felt less than she had on Shanxi, on Pheiros.

She looked on with dry eyes as the batarians sorted the prisoners into groups, men separated from women and children. _Fight back_ , she wanted to snap at them. None of them even tried put up a struggle, though some begged for their lives. She found herself at last growing angry, not with the batarians, but with the colonists. Anger felt good, felt _clean_ , and it dulled the pain in her head. Shepard let it fill her, let her scorn become a shield that separated her from their suffering. She watched them with disdain, seething at their expectation that compliance would result in mercy, at the presumption that they didn't have to arm themselves, that someone out there would protect them and their children. She felt the old grief rise up in her again.

 _You were worth a hundred of them,_ she thought, Kaidan's memory an ache in her chest. For one second her eyes blurred with all the tears the colonists could not inspire her to shed.

She blinked, rapidly.

When she could see again the red headed girl was back on the screen.

Her hair was a mess, and the baseball bat was splintering, but she was moving stealthily, pulling the lady in the yellow dress behind her. Shepard saw that the older woman now sported a noticeable limp. She crouched forward in her seat, her hands gripping the desk next to the screen as she watched them cautiously make their way forward.

They weren't moving fast enough. A batarian stepped forward into the edge of the screen.

"Run, damn it," Shepard caught herself hissing at the terminal. "Leave her!"

But the teenager stepped between the alien and the older woman, her bat raised high.

Shepard exhaled quickly and cursed. "You stupid girl," she said, her hands shaking, as she watched the batarian rip the bat out of her grip and club her with it across the chest and face. She saw her stagger back against the wall and sink down, twitching, one arm hanging limply at her side. The batarian moved towards the woman in yellow. She was standing in front of him, her arms empty and outstretched, her lips moving. Shepard saw him sneer, watched him turn his head back to the slumped teenager who lay injured but not unconscious against the wall.

The girl's face was contorted in pain, but her mouth was drawn up in a snarl. The hand that could still move had lifted up and out towards the woman, and Shepard saw the despair and rage in her eyes, burning so sharp and bright that looking at her set something in Shepard's own chest alight.

With a faltering hand she reached out to press her fingertips to the screen.  

The batarian lowered his gun. She watched as his mouth stretched open in a leering smile. And with his face still turned towards the wounded girl, he opened fire on the older woman's legs.

Shepard closed her eyes.

The only thing she could hear was the faint humming of the ship's engines and the low drone of the air filters. If she really focused, she could make out the muffled movements of the crew in the adjacent room. But there was no gunfire, no scream, no crunch of shattered bone.

That was reserved for a farming colony light years away, for a little room in an underground bunker, for two women she could not save.

When she looked back to the screen the batarian and the girl were gone, and there was a new addition to the lifeless bodies of the colonists, a crumpled form lying in a red, wet heap. Only a small scrap of fabric still showed yellow.

\----

The thing about growing up in the eezo unit of the cancer ward is that it changes your outlook on morality. You learn early on not to worry about things like _right_ or _wrong_. These are concepts that have no impact on the events that shape your life.

It being wrong will not stop the doctors from tying the restraints tight on your wrists and ankles as they prep you for yet another surgery months after the cancer has gone into remission. They say that the research is necessary, that it could save lives, but it being right will not comfort you as you lie face down in the wing where they have kept you since you were four years old, the scalpel cutting a cold line up the soft tissues at the base of your skull.

Later, when you are fighting to make the transition from ‘test subject’ to ‘fully integrated member of society’ with all the inalienable rights and freedoms associated, you learn to be flexible about these distinctions. Nobody wants to see you as human, because what would that make them? It is easier to forget, to turn a blind eye. You have to accept that some things will never be rectified.  You learn to bend, in order not to break. You learn to compromise.

After 16 years of life outside the hospital, Shepard's existence is a series of so many bad compromises that she can’t imagine what _whole_ feels like, looks like, anymore. She tells herself that whole was never an option, better to settle for the next best thing, to get _free,_ instead. Her career in the Alliance Navy has bought her that much at least, never mind how tenuous, or how high the price _._

Which is all to say that when it comes to self justification, Shepard spares herself a great deal of introspective soul searching. She allows herself to operate freely, unburdened by a cumbersome set of ethics. She does not punish herself for the choices she makes.

She has been shaped by her experiences, and if there was a code she followed, its tenets would be this:

Everything is permitted.

Every horror is accepted.

Give no mercy, and expect none in return.

It is a gift that she gives herself, to make up for everything that has been taken from her. She has never once questioned its necessity.

But now, in the darkness of her cabin, the screen a closed portal between her and the freshly dead, she feels something suspiciously close to shame.

…

Shepard sat rigidly at her desk. There was a sinking sensation in her gut that even the pounding of her head could not mask.

She put her hands up to her face, willing the world to be quiet, the image of the slaughtered woman’s body to fade. The sensation of self recrimination was foreign, and unwelcome. She could feel herself starting to panic, her hands clenching next to her face, as the pain in her head intensified.

Pushing back from the desk, she made herself concentrate on her body, her breathing, until she could feel the traces of the fear and disgust like a web on her skin.

Shepard leaned back into her chair and closed her eyes, pulling her legs out into the beginner’s pose they’d taught them all back at Brain Camp. Three deep breaths, and she had dropped back into the state required for the most basic form of energy manipulation.

She moved outside herself, until she was somewhere above her body, looking down. In her mind’s eye, she saw the fear wrapped around her, a pale white ivy whose bitter tendrils clung to her limbs in a constricting caress. It’s growth slowed her movements, it's leaves blocked her sight, and it's vines encircled her neck. Shepard saw and understood; if she was not careful, it would choke the life out of her.

 _Find its source_ , she thought. _Kill it at the root_.

And so she followed it's pale curves until they led her to her target; to her heart. She reached inward with a spectral hand, touching the wound, the rot that had given life to this growth.

 _Of course_ , she thought, her eyes snapping open. She stretched, feeling her body reassert its presence as she let herself come out of the pose.

Kaidan's death. It always came back to that.

His loss had hurt her. Worse than that; it had made her afraid of losing.

 _Stupid_ , she told herself. _His death has freed you_.

After all, what was there left for her to lose, now?

The best part of herself was already gone.

Closing her eyes again, she thought about Saren, about the spikes she'd seen the geth impale a struggling man upon, the dripping mouth of the thresher maw, the sneering grin of the batarian soldier, until at last she felt her blood run hot, pulsing with the battle hunger, her heart beating like a great war drum. The ruined part of her face twisted up into a mirthless grin, the wrecked muscles twitching. All over her body she felt the vines of fear and shame withering, flaking away into colorless ash.

Shepard opened her eyes.

Let them have what was left of her.

...

With the migrane gone, it was tempting to let the overwhelming exhaustion carry her swiftly into unconsciousness, leave the last steps for another day. But Shepard knew she wouldn't be able to rest until she'd spoken to Anderson.

Even now, on the cusp of her decision, his face held her back. She wavered for another minute on whether or not to act. But it wasn't a choice, really. She'd had her share of crappy CO's, but he had never been one of them.

Or maybe it was just that ten years of training, purpose, and allegiance were not so easily shed.

Tapping at the terminal she opened a comm.

“Pressly,” she said into the speaker. “Get me a line to Anderson.”

His voice was doubtful. “Are you sure, Ma’am? It’s well into the night cycle on the Citadel.”

““Just get him on the line,” she stated coldly. "That’s an order.”

A second of startled silence passed before Pressly responded. “Uh, yes Ma’am, I’ll see what I can do.”

She closed the comm, taking another deep breath. After a few minutes, the call came through.

Anderson's familiar, grizzled face came up. He looked tired, and much older than when Shepard had last seen him.

"Shepard," he said, rubbing his head. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon after your last briefing. Do you have something new to report?"

"Negative, Sir," she said, her face tight. "I'm requesting clarification on the Mindoir situation."

Anderson sighed. "Of course you are," he said, his deep voice dry.

Shepard pressed forward, speaking rapidly. "I've seen the vids. What happened on Mindoir was an act of war. So why hasn't the Alliance made a formal declaration?"

Anderson’s gaze rose somewhere over her right shoulder. "The Batarian Hegemony has denied all ties to those responsible for the attack."

"That's bullshit," she spat out, her good sense kicking in a beat too late. Sucking in her breath, she tried again. “Forgive me sir, but the war with the turians was started over much less. I don't understand why the Alliance refuses to act."

"Because the Council has advised us against a counter attack," Anderson snapped at her. He ran his hands through his short hair. "The peace treaty we signed gives them jurisdiction over all intergalactic disputes in council space." He shot her a meaningful glance. "As a Spectre, you of all people should understand the position we're in."

"As a Spectre, I understand that the only thing scum like that will respond to is a show of brute force," she said.

"We are part of the galactic community now." Anderson said wearily. "Things aren't that simple anymore."

"So that's it?" she shot back in disbelief. "We just pretend it didn't happen?" She could feel the muscle in her damaged cheek twitching.

"Goddamn it, Shepard," he said, his eyes intense. "You think I don't want to see them pay? I have soldiers on Mindoir right now, picking up the pieces. Trust me when I say that nothing you might've seen on any vid holds a damn candle to the shit they've found." He took in a deep breath, and his voice turned pensive. "Gonna have to discharge some of them after this. There are some things a person shouldn't see."

At his words Shepard found herself recalling blue armor, and a face turned away from her own. A wave of nausea rose up in her.

"The simple fact is," Anderson continued quietly, "we don't have the resources to wage a war against the batarians." His jaw clenched, and his voice was bitter. "Our economy is still reeling from ten years of combat, and half our damned army is tied up with the Council Defense Force."

Shepard went cold as she finally understood what he'd been trying to tell her.

It wasn't that the Alliance didn't want to retaliate. They couldn't.

Looking at Anderson, she took in the new gray in his hair, and the harsh lines around his mouth. As angry as she was, she abruptly felt sorry for her old CO. Knowing him, he wouldn't have taken this news well.

Anderson continued, his voice grim. "Don't doubt me. We will do what we can to track down these 'extremists’. But without Council support, our capabilities are limited."

"I understand, sir," she said. "Is there anything my team can do to help?"

"You can complete your damned mission." He sighed, and continued distractedly. "Between the batarians and the geth, our colonies are extremely vulnerable right now. Shepard," he said, catching her eyes. "You do your part to take care of Saren, and I promise you, we will deal with the rest of humanity's enemies."

Shepard looked into his steady brown eyes. Anderson was a good man, or at least, as good as they came in the Navy. She knew he didn't fully trust her. But he'd done a hell of a lot more for her than any of her other CO's ever had. At one point in her career, that would have been enough.

That time had passed.

"I know you will, sir," she lied, her hand raised in a salute. He nodded back at her, and ended the call.


	12. The Weak Points

Shepard had addressed the human members of the crew from the cockpit, making a statement on behalf of the fallen on Mindoir. Earth was holding a day of mourning, but she felt that in light of the importance of their mission, the best way to honor the dead was by proceeding with their objective. Afterwards she'd given orders to continue towards the Knossos system. 

Finally, she'd headed down to the crew showers.

Clean at last, Shepard closed the door to her cabin, wearily keying in the privacy seals. She threw on an old workout tank and some leggings, and brought up her omni-tool.

There was one call left to make. 

...

To her chagrin, her first attempt was rejected. 

Undaunted, she tried again.

When Miranda's voice finally came through it was brittle, and Shepard heard the sound of her tapping away at an unseen terminal screen. No hologram image popped up.

"Shepard," she said. "Apologies, but I am unable to communicate via holo right now. What did you want to talk about?"

Shepard raised her eyebrows. “What, I don't merit a face to face call anymore?"

Miranda spoke in clipped tones. "I am currently engaged on a crucial and confidential assignment. Since you flagged this as high priority, I put you through. However, I am afraid we will have to keep things brief, as I have a considerable amount of work ahead of me."

Shepard rolled her eyes, and pressed forward.  "I assume you've heard the news?" 

"If you’re referring to the hostilities on Mindoir, then you are correct. I’m aware of the attack, and the obvious repercussions." 

"The Alliance won't do anything," Shepard said, frowning.

"Our sources have already told us as much." Miranda responded, her attention still focused elsewhere. "Was there something else you wanted to discuss?"

One of Shepard’s eyebrows rose, and she felt the ruined side of her mouth twitch. "You know, Miranda,” she said conversationally, “I’m beginning to get the feeling you're not particularly glad to hear from me."

The sound of typing ceased abruptly.

"No Shepard,” the woman snapped. “I’m simply overjoyed at the prospect of setting aside my incredibly important and  _ time sensitive _ project for a heart to heart chat with an agent of the Citadel Council.” 

“Hey now, no need to resort to name calling.”

Miranda huffed out a breath, and the sound of typing resumed. “That’s rich coming from the woman who threatened to report me as a terrorist last time we spoke.”

Shepard snorted. “What would you prefer I called you? ‘Freedom fighters’?”

“I’m ending this call,” Miranda threatened stonily.

“Wait,” Shepard said, cursing herself. This wasn’t how she meant to play this. “You know I wouldn't call if it wasn't important." She leaned forward on her elbows, all playfulness dropping away. "Just tell me this,” she said, her shoulders tense. “The Alliance won't act against the Hegemony. Will Cerberus?"

The typing slowed, and then stopped. "Of course we will," Miranda said. “Have you seen what they did to those people? It was a bloody massacre.” Her voice turned cold. “Rest assured, the batarians have succeeded in gaining our attention. I’m not privy to the full scope of our response, but I can promise you that I will do my part to personally ensure that they suffer for it." 

“Thank you,” Shepard said, bowing her head. She hesitated, stalling for time as she contemplated what came next.

But Miranda spoke up again, her voice softening. "I’m glad you called. I don't know if I’ll be able to be in contact after they send me out. I know we’ve had our share of disagreements, but it’s been …rewarding, working with you. I wish things could have been different, obviously, but I've always believed in the work you do.” She paused. “And we were a good team, for a while.”

Shepard’s eyes narrowed. It was extremely unlike Miranda to wax nostalgic. Her tone was practically… sentimental. Warning bells started clanging loudly in her head. “Hold up,” she said. “Why won’t you be in contact?”

"God, I'm rambling aren't I?" 

For the first time, Shepard recognized the exhaustion that had been hidden under the annoyance in Miranda's voice. Her sense of alarm increased. 

"I've been assigned to a retaliatory operation. It's not the sort of assignment that will ever end up in the extranet dailies. But then, my work never does," Miranda said, her voice turning unexpectedly bitter.

“What do they want you to do?” Shepard asked, a frown creasing her brow.

"Really, Shepard," Miranda said, with false joviality, “I’d expect someone whose last three deployments have been stricken from public record to a be a little more familiar with the concept of black ops."

"Miranda," Shepard said flatly, "I walked into a sprung trap full of dead Marines today. I killed the monster responsible for their deaths, some god awful thing called a Thresher Maw, which I’ll no doubt be seeing again in my nightmares. And then when I got back to my ship, I found out that a group of hostile aliens had burned down and enslaved an entire colony. An act of unprecedented aggression, to which the Alliance has decided to respond by sitting back doing sweet fuck all. And you know what the funniest part is?” She leaned forward, her voice going razor sharp. “None of it’s got me half so rattled as I am right now, listening to you talk about this assignment. So why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on?”

But Miranda had gone silent. When she spoke again her voice was low and urgent. “Did you just say ‘Thresher Maw’?” 

"Yeah," Shepard said, shuddering.  “Damn thing nearly ate us. Now I've got a krogan on my ship who's pissed at me cause I wouldn't let him eat  _ it _ ." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Why?"

"Nothing," Miranda said, too quickly. "I'd just heard rumors, that's all." She paused. "I'd hoped they were false." 

Something in her voice was off, and Shepard frowned, about to dig further, but Miranda’s next words put it out of her mind.

"The details of my next assignment are extremely classified, but, given the current circumstances, and our, ah, productive former working relationship, I suppose I can break protocol. Here, hold on a second.”

Shepard heard her fiddling with her omnitool.

Then she was staring into Miranda's face. 

She had one heartbeat of shock, before the edges of her vision turned black and the rage hit.

The bruises and scrapes stood out starkly against Miranda’s pale skin, easily visible even through the flickering holo image. There was a fresh and ugly looking scar running up the side of her temple, its red edges puckered against the stitches. 

But it was the sight of her bare head, unevenly shaven with patches of stubble, that turned Shepard's blood to ice in her veins and set her amp twitching. She caught a flash of blue out of the corner of her eye, saw Miranda's eyes widen. Swearing inwardly, she fought back the instinctual biotic corona.

When she had it under control, she spoke.  "Who did this to you." 

Miranda's mouth twitched up, the grin looking out of place among the bruises. "Calm down. Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment," she added.  "But I'm afraid in this instance your concern is misplaced. This" she motioned at her face, "is part of my cover." She paused. 

"They're sending me into batarian space."

Shepard took a minute to process that.  When she understood, her eyes went dark and her mouth hardened into a firm line. 

Humans didn’t go into batarian space. Not willingly, anyway. 

"I'll be joining the captives from Mindoir as a plant," Miranda continued, confirming her fears. "Part of my mission is to facilitate their escape."

“‘Part’ of your mission?” 

Miranda's gaze dropped. "They’re setting me up in the household of a high ranking batarian officer. My main assignment will be information retrieval. The length of the operation is indeterminate" She looked up, her expression resolute. "It may be years before they bring me in."

“Like fucking hell it will,” Shepard swore, slamming her hand down on the desk, causing Miranda's image to stutter in and out. 

“Shepard,” her voice came through the fuzzy image. “Control yourself.”

”Why are you doing this," she hissed angrily. "Can you even trust them to bring you back out? What if they just decide to leave you there? Miranda, this is completely  _ insane _ .”

“No, Shepard. This is what I do.” The image up cleared enough to reveal Miranda glaring at her.  “There are no desk jobs in Cerberus. Someone has to look out for humanity, and the Alliance clearly can’t. Or won’t.”

"Is this because of me?” Shepard asked. “Are they punishing you for failing to recruit me?"

Miranda's face closed off completely. “This has nothing to do with you. And I can look out for myself. I thought you understand that by now,” she added, staring at her until Shepard dropped her eyes. “This is hardly my first assignment.” 

“I think going undercover on a slaver ship might be a  _ little _ different than spying on the turians, Miranda,” Shepard snapped back.

“Is that so?” Miranda’s smile had gone tight and sharp, and her voice was dangerously soft. “Tell me Shepard, what  _ exactly _ do you think you know about the work I did during the war?” 

“Look, I’m not trying to trivialize-“ Shepard started, but she was cut off.

“Please,” Miranda said, still smiling in a way that was starting to make Shepard acutely uncomfortable, “I’m desperately curious to know how you think Sec36 got their intel. Elaborate disguises, perhaps?” She raised one eyebrow. “Some sort of turian puppetry?”

Shepard shot her a dirty look. “Now you’re just being a asshole.”

Miranda regarded her patiently, her head cocked expectantly to one side. 

“Fine,” she said, blowing out her breath in annoyance. “I guess I always assumed you guys bugged the communication hubs,” she said grudgingly, “or, I don’t know, used hidden scout ships to tap into transmissions between warships.”

“Oh yes, that’s brilliant,” Miranda said, nodding sagely. “All you’d need is a group of turian generals foolish enough to broadcast key intel into open space.” 

Shepard threw up her hands in exasperation. “Okay, Miranda, you got me. I don’t know.”

“When you're infiltrating the army of an alien species,” Miranda said, ignoring her, “you don't have the option of blending in. You have to look for other ways.” She spoke in the exaggerated tone one might use to lecture a particularly dull child. Shepard scowled. “Ask yourself, who is allowed within enemy ranks?” Her blue eyes went unfocused, as if she was looking at something far away, but her voice came out clear and hard as steel. “Prisoners, war trophies, and slaves.”

Shepard swallowed the words she’d been about to say, staring at the hologram.

“The ones they expect to be beaten, because they are, regularly. The ones they think are too broken to worry about.” Miranda’s smile was long gone. “When they don't fear you, they start to let down their guard.” Her voice had gone flat. “Little by little, you make yourself sympathetic. You show them how powerless you are, how much you need them, how  _ grateful _ you can be for the smallest kindnesses.” Suddenly she looked years older, and very tired. "You find the weak points, and you exploit them." 

"Miranda, I.." Shepard shook her head, finding herself for once at a total loss for words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think…” 

“It’s fine,” Miranda said stiffly. “I understand, really. But I do have work to do. So, if that’s quite all-”

“No, wait,” Shepard said, ducking her head. “I should know better than to treat you like a civilian. But I didn’t call to give you shit about your job.” 

She bit her lip, hesitating. This was it, she thought, no turning back. 

“I called because, you’re right. About… well, about a lot of things. And I need your help. The stuff I’ve seen today…” Shepard shook her head again. “What we’re facing goes beyond the question of loyalty.” She took in a deep breath. “If Cerberus can help me protect humanity, then I’ll work with you. ”

The words hung between them for a long moment.

Miranda’s voice was guarded. “That’s quite a turnaround from the last time talked.” She eyed Shepard suspiciously. “What’s happened to all your high ideals, your reservations about our motives?”

Shepard stared back at her. “I can’t afford ideals that hold me back from accomplishing the mission. If you’re willing to help me put an end to this threat, I don’t give a damn whose colors you fly under. ”

Miranda looked at her closely. “You understand what we’ll require from you?”

“Yes,” Shepard looked down, forcing herself to say it. “I’ve already wasted a week looking for some damned asari scientist. The Council has pledged cooperation, but give them half a chance and they’ll bury this whole investigation. For all I know they could still be supporting Saren covertly.” She snarled, her hands balling into fists. “Meanwhile the Alliance is too busy running around in circles trying to please everyone to see that we’re on the brink of another war. And  _ nobody _ I talk to seems to get that this is bigger than some petty galactic politics bullshit.” She looked up again, her fist hitting her palm. 

“Get me reliable intel on Saren’s whereabouts. Find out who else he’s working with. Protect the Traverse colonies,” she stressed, “and I promise, I’ll get you access to anything you need, on the Council, the geth, Saren, hell, even the Alliance,” she finished, her mouth twisting. 

Miranda’s eyes widened. “That’s quite the offer.” She brought up the terminal screen again. “I’ll need to talk to my handler, but I believe they will accept.”

“Yeah?” Shepard caught and held the other woman’s eye. “Then while you’ve got them on the line, go ahead and send them your regrets, because as of right now you are unavailable for this messed up slavery mission.” Her lip curled. “If they want me, it has to be through you. No way in hell I am dealing with some other traitorous scumba- uh, Cerberus operative,” she amended. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Miranda said cordially, with a slight smile. “I think that can be arranged.” 

Her smile went lopsided for a minute, and when she spoke again her voice came out oddly rushed.“Shepard. If you’re going to do this, it should be for the right reasons.” She looked down, her cheeks flushed.

Shepard stared at her. “I’m sorry, is that part of the official Cerberus recruitment speech? Or are you going off message on me?”

Miranda looked back up at her, her eyes troubled. “Don’t do this for me,” she said.

Shepard thought back to the redheaded girl’s face, so alive with pain and anger. No one would be coming to save her now. Her heart sank.

“No,” she said quietly. “I’m not doing it for you.”

Miranda regarded her intensely for a minute, then nodded. “Allright. I believe you.” 

She started for her terminal again, then suddenly stopped,  frowning.

“What?” Shepard asked apprehensively. 

“I suppose it was out of the question that you could have arrived at this momentous decision  _ before _ I’d gone to the trouble of  _ shaving my head _ ,” she muttered, shooting Shepard a dark look. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing all that advanced gene therapy can’t handle,” Shepard said, with a wan smile.

Miranda grimaced. “In any case, you’d better walk me through what you’ve dealt with so far,” she said, her usual briskness restored.  “Let’s start with Eden Prime.”

“Ah, sure,” Shepard said, thinking quickly about how much she should actually say. There was one part she knew without a doubt she would be leaving out. The less people who knew about the link between her and Vakarian, the better. And then there were the Reapers. Would Miranda even believe what she had seen? 

The Council hadn’t. She wondered if Anderson or Udina really had. 

_ Well _ , she thought,  _ if she thinks you’re nuts and tells you to piss off, at least you’ll be spared the ignominy of life as a traitor _ . 

At that word, the fear rose up again white hot in her chest, and for one second she had the choking, dizzying feeling that she was about to make a terrible mistake, the biggest and worst one of her life. 

_ What will I be when this is done _ , she thought, her resolve wavering into panic.  _ What will I have become _ ?

Then she saw the husks again, the pile of the bodies, the bloody yellow dress. The answer came quickly.

_ Whatever it takes. _

Shepard took a deep breath, and began her story.


	13. Grey Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I met you suddenly down the street,  
> Strangers assume your phantom faces,  
> You grin at me from daylight places,  
> Dead, long dead, I'm ashamed to greet  
> Dead men down the morning street.”  
> ― Robert Graves

"Can't this thing go any faster?"

Garrus gripped the arms of the co-pilots chair with stiff talons. It didn’t help knowing that the buzz of adrenaline in his head as the Normandy soared through the turbulent atmosphere of Therum was not entirely his own.

"Oh sure," Joker said, his eyes never leaving the display. "Say the word and I'll point the old girl straight down. With amount of extra gravitational force this planet is packing, we should hit terminal velocity in seconds." He yanked on one of the many glowing instruments that covered the ship’s cockpit.

Garrus winced as the Normandy made a particularly sharp dive, his stomach dropping into his boots.

"But if you want us to stay in the air, and more importantly, in one piece,” Joker said, his eyes locked on a scrolling line of numbers that was rapidly flashing down the main terminal, “then this is about as fast as we can go."

Garrus’s mandibles pulled in tight to his face. A Hierarchy pilot would never talk back to a superior that way.

“There,” Joker said suddenly, abruptly back to business. He tapped in the codes to open a comm to the ground team. “Shepard, I’ve got a pick up zone. Sending you the location now.”

“ _About goddamn time!_ ” Her voice crackled through the comms. Garrus heard something explode in the background. “ _We’ll be there in 5_.”

“Yeah. Sooner would be, uh, better,” Joker muttered, tugging on his hat as the ship flew over what looked like a lake of churning lava.

Garrus opened a comm to the cargo bay. “Ground team incoming,” he said. “Everyone, secure yourselves as soon as they make it aboard. We’re going out hot.”

“ _You don’t have to tell us_ ,” Tali’s voice piped back. “ _I think the rear thrusters are starting to melt_.”

“Hold on girl, we’re almost there!” Joker yelped out next to him.

“ _Was he talking to me, or to the ship?_ ” Tali said, sounding vaguely amused. “ _Nevermind. I don’t want to know_.” Garrus opened his mouth to respond, but her next transmission cut him off. “ _We’ve got a visual on them. Standby for confirmation_.”

There was a minute of static, and then Shepard’s voice came through. “ _We’re clear. Joker, get us the hell out of here._ ”

Joker looked at him.

“You heard the woman,” Garrus said, teeth clenched.

…

For the next 10 minutes Garrus occupied himself by mentally reciting a litany of prayers to the Spirits as he watched the smoking red bulk of Therum slowly grow smaller and smaller through the Normandy’s cockpit window. When it had dwindled down to a steadily retreating dot, he turned back to Joker.

“So, “ he said, forcing himself to relax back into the chair. “Are all Alliance pilots this smart-assed?”

“Nah,” Joker said, grinning, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Just the really, really good ones.”

Garrus shook his head. “Typical.”

“Well,” Joker fiddled with the brim of his hat, “if we’re ah, being honest.” He shot Garrus a side-long glance. “The brass haven’t always been my biggest fans.” He shifted in his chair. “In fact, they had another candidate all lined up for this gig.”

Garrus looked up in surprise, and Joker flashed him a cheerful grin.

“But seeing as we’re still alive instead of, say, getting our asses barbecued by a fucking volcano, I think you can see why they ultimately decided to go with me."

Garrus opened his mouth, and then closed it with a snap. The bastard had a point. “Carry on, Lieutenant,” he said, rising out of the chair. He paused. “Excellent work today.”

“Thank you sir,” Joker said, saluting.

As he walked down the command deck, the elevator doors swung open. An asari walked through, her clothes looking slightly singed.

"Dr. Liara T'soni," Garrus said, nodding his head in greeting. "Glad to have you aboard. I've been informed you're something of an expert regarding prothean technology. We could use your help."

He was startled to see her flush, and then he heard Shepard snort.

"Yeah, she's a real pro alright." She shoved past,  Ash and Wrex following behind.

The asari dropped her eyes.

Garrus spun on his heel, glaring after her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tell you in the mission debrief,” she called back. He heard her open a channel. “Combat team, report to the comm room in 10. Joker, put me through to the Council.” She turned to look back at him. “You coming, partner?”

Not for the first time, Garrus cursed his rotten luck. But when she headed toward comm room, he reluctantly fell into step.

…

The call to the Council went about as well as could be expected.

The Councilors were clearly determined from the outset to find fault with everything they'd done. Garrus began to wonder if there was even a point to the check in. Then, after roughly four minutes of heated debate, Shepard abruptly terminated the call.

Garrus laughed, surprising both of them. For moment they stood grinning at each other like a pair of delinquent kids. Then the past caught up with them, and the moment turned fraught and uncomfortable. He wasn't sure who looked away first.

“Let’s get this over with,” she said, punching in the access code. He nodded, and took a seat as the rest of the team filed in.

The mission debrief, however, was nothing short of a disaster.

It started off well enough. Shepard led them through a detailed account of the mission, occasionally letting Wrex elaborate. Garrus was dismayed to hear that the geth forces far surpassed what they had faced on Eden Prime. When he voiced his concerns, Shepard nodded.

“We need to try to get some idea of their real numbers,” she said. She ran a hand through her hair. “We got lucky today. But obviously we can’t always rely on an active volcano to divert their attention.”

While a volcanic eruption wasn’t Garrus’ idea of a lucky break, he was relieved to see that Shepard was able to put aside their personal conflicts to conduct the meeting. To his surprise, she seemed to be making an effort to remain neutral towards him.  

Her newfound civility lasted right up until the asari attempted to initiate a mind meld, at which point the proceedings were rather spectacularly cut short.

...

Garrus hastily stood up as Shepard stormed out of the comm room, taking in the startled and confused looks from the rest of the team. He cleared his throat, ducking slightly away from the blue sparks that were still rebounding around the room.

“That will be all,” he said. “Report back to your stations. Joker, chart a course for the Citadel. We’ll need to schedule repairs to the rear and forward thrusters.”

As they filed out, and he turned towards the corner of the room where Liara cowered.

“I apologize for the behavior of my… colleague,” he said, stumbling slightly over the word.

Liara looked up at him with round eyes.

“Is she always like that?" she asked plaintively.

Garrus sighed. "Only on the good days," he muttered. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

He left before she could reply, stalking out the door after Shepard.

...

He found her leaning against the door of her cabin, her head down and her arms crossed. She jerked up at his approach. In his head he felt the hot, itchy sensation of panic.

“A word?” he said stiffly, motioning towards her cabin. She froze, then nodded reluctantly.

The doors had barely swished closed behind him before he rounded on her. "What the hell was that?”

Her response was a long string of harsh syllables that his translator was unable to process.

“You were _completely_ of line back there,” he said, his voice compressed by his effort not to shout. “For fuck’s sake, Shepard, I know better than to expect anything remotely resembling sanity from you, but I’ll admit I had hoped you could at least keep it together in front of the crew. ”

She turned on him, her face twisted in a snarl. “How am I supposed to keep it together when another fucking alien wants to set up shop inside my head?”

“Is that what this is about? Spirits, she’s trying to help us-“

“So what, should I just hang a welcome matt around my neck?” She kicked the chair in front of her desk. “‘Come right on in, don’t bother knocking’!”

He snorted. “Take it from me, nobody wants to see any of the shit you’ve got in there.”

“She seemed pretty eager to me.”

“She’s an asari,” he shot back. “That’s what they do. Honestly, how else did you think she was going to help?”

“I didn’t think she was going to try to stick her fingers into my goddamn brain!” Shepard shouted.

Garrus held up a hand, and pointed to the door.

While she glared at him in silence, he put it together. “So I gather you weren’t briefed on asari mind melds.”

“No,” she hissed. “I was not.”

“Spirits,” he said, rubbing his head. “I hate to think what passes for Alliance intelligence.”

She muttered something unintelligible.

He sighed. “Look, I’m not exactly thrilled about sharing the contents of my head either, but she’s our best chance to figure out what happened on Eden Prime.” He glared at her, lowering his voice. “Unless you’ve been enjoying these late night trips down memory lane.”

Her eyes flashed up at him in a startled glance. “You’ve been having the dreams too?”

“Yeah.” He looked away, trying to keep the anger and grief out of his voice. “Every night I watch my squad die.”

Her voice sounded surprised. “That’s what you see?”

“Aephus is what I see,” he said, staring at her. “Every blasted detail, clear as daylight.” He brought a hand up to his face, rubbing the plates under his eyes. “I’d give a hell of a lot never to see that place again.”

“So would I,” she murmured. For a minute their eyes caught. Something wordless passed between them.

Garrus turned aside, trying to clear his head. “That asari is our only hope for unraveling this damned mess,” he said. “So I would strongly encourage you to refrain from using her as a biotic punching bag.”

Shepard grunted from behind him. He looked back to find her frowning down at the floor.

“She gives me the creeps.” She gestured out towards the door, grimacing. “Do all asari stare like that?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “She’s probably just admiring my handiwork.” He was pleased to see her flush, the skin around her scar going white. “Did you explain our situation to her on Therum?”

“No,” she said.

He gave a her an aggravated look.

“Hey,” she said, scowling, “Between the geth, the Prothean bubble traps, and the active volcano we were kind of busy, alright?” She rubbed the back of her neck. “And I didn’t want to talk about it in front of Ash or Wrex.” 

“Fine. I’ll do it,” he said, exasperated. “But I’m not sitting out on any more missions. From now on, if you go groundside, so do I.”

She glared at him. “We talked about this. It’s a liability-“

“To hell with that,” he snapped. “I can _feel_ everything that happens down there. It’s like trying to sleep on a bellyful of stims. You don’t like it, then you hang back next time we see action.” He slammed his hand on the door release, the swish of it opening cutting off any retort she might have had.

As he walked away, he felt the heat of her anger in a satisfying buzz under his skin.

—

He tracked Liara to the med bay, where she was in the process of setting up a work station.

She was willing enough to listen to his story, though he got the distinct impression that she was reserving judgment.

“It’s not that I don’t wish to believe you,” she said, ducking slightly. “It’s just that it all sounds so absurd. Surely Saren would have nothing to gain by allying with the Geth-“

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Garrus said, his mandibles tightening.

“Please do not think me ungrateful,” she added hastily. “I don’t mean to call your judgement into question. And certainly, I can think of no other reason why the Geth should wish me dead. Do you truly believe that this is the result of my mother’s work with Saren?” Her face was troubled.

“I’m sorry, Dr. T’soni,” Garrus said, “but I do.”

She bit her lip. “I’ve had my own suspicions for many years now,” she whispered. “Perhaps I should have payed closer attention, instead of letting my studies take me so far away. But I never thought that something like this-“ Her voice broke off.

Garrus looked over her shoulders, at the clean white walls of the med bay. “It’s tempting to look back and wish that things were different,” he said quietly. “Sometimes it’s easier to cast blame than it is to admit that there was nothing you could have done.”

Liara sniffed, and he saw her run a quick hand across her face. Then she nodded sharply, and looked up. “Regardless of what I believe, it is clear that I owe you both my life. If there is any way in which my skills may be of use to you, I will offer them gladly.”

“…But it would help if you had proof,” Garrus finished for her.

“Well,” Liara colored, “yes.” She made a rueful face. “I am afraid that I deeply offended the Commander with my request.”

“She’s a human,” he said, shrugging. “They’re easily offended.” Liara looked worried, so he reluctantly expanded. “And it’s possible that she is… somewhat understandably hesitant to let another person inside her head.” He grimaced. “The fact is, Dr. T’soni, neither of us are particularly happy with the predicament we find ourselves currently facing. If there’s anything you can do to negate the effects of the Beacon, I know we’d both be extremely grateful.”

“That is the most intriguing part of your story,” Liara blurted out, one of her hands reaching up toward his forehead. “The effects you have described sometimes occur between bondmates who have been paired for centuries. Even among my people, it is extremely rare. But for two non-asari to experience it…” she sighed, and pulled her hand back in her lap. “I wish I could study it further.”

Well, there was his opening. Garrus spread his hands. “Consider me at your service,” he said.

Her eyes went wide. “You would be willing?”

He gave her a tight grin. “Sure. It couldn’t hurt, right?”

Liara beamed at him. “Wonderful!” She reached out again, and then caught herself. “Would you object if we were to begin immediately?”

“Not at all,” he said, swallowing his misgivings. He eyed his surroundings. “Just, uh, right here?”

“Please,” she said, smiling and pointing to the bed. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He sat down gingerly. “So," he said, "how does this work, exactly?"

"It would be best if you focused on keeping your thoughts calm. Breathe deeply, and try to relax," Liara said, standing up from her makeshift desk.

"It’s the ‘relaxed’ part that has me worried," he said, looking away. "The last time I did this, I wasn’t wearing full body armor." He scratched the back of his neck. "And neither was she."

Liara blushed a deep purple, taking a step back. "Goddess," she breathed, covering her face. "I didn't even think." She dropped her hands, and he watched her fight to regain her composure.

"Garrus," she said, her voice dismayed but firm, "I am sorry if you feel I have misled you in any way. But I was not proposing-"

"Whoa, whoa," he said, raising his hands defensively. "I wasn't expecting anything like that. I know your people use it for other stuff too. I just, uh, have only ever done it the one way." He grimaced. "I don't want to get anything wrong."

"Oh," Liara said, her blush subsiding slightly. "Thank you for that consideration. If it helps," she said, glancing up at him, “you should know that this will be a first for me as well. I have never melded with anyone outside the asari before.”

Garrus looked at her in consternation. "Are you sure that you want to do this?"

Liara nodded. "I am. Whatever knowledge the Beacon imparted to you could be instrumental to my studies. And I will admit, I am curious to see if what you claim is true.” She frowned. “While it does seem unbelievable that a race capable of such destruction could leave no trace of itself, it is indisputable that the Protheans vanished and you do not strike me as being delusional.”

“Thanks,” Garrus said drily.

“I am sorry Garrus, I am aware that this is somewhat awkward," she said, flushing again. “But it is too good a chance to pass up."

"Well, I'm not in a position to turn you down," Garrus said, with what he hoped was a reassuring grin.

"Indeed, the words every maiden wishes to hear before her first meld.”

Garrus looked up, startled, and caught her smiling wryly at him. He laughed, and shook his head. "Alright, Dr. T’soni. Do your worst. I'll try to keep it sanitary."

He lay down on the bed, and tried to force himself to relax.

The touch of her hands on his forehead was more intimate than he was expecting, and for a moment he had a fleeting recollection of deep brown eyes, pebbled purple skin, warm waves of blue light rolling over him-

 _Do not think about the other asari_ , he thought frantically.

Struggling to keep his mind blank, he looked up into her eyes, and froze, transfixed, as they flashed from blue to black.

…

And then he is back on Palaven, chasing after Sol, both of them flying through the tall silver grass in a race to the woods at the end of the field.  

As usual, she is winning.

He can hear the bright ripple of her laughter drifting back to him across the field, the steady chugging of his own breath as he strives to catch her. But no matter how fast he runs, she is quicker, her long limbs effortlessly out-pacing him.

Soon she is barely visible, her back a pale dot bobbing against the black of the woods that rise up from the field’s end like jagged teeth.

He calls out to her to slow down, to wait, but she is too far away to hear him.

A faint keening echoes through the empty fields.

When he looks up he can see the dark silhouette of an argentavis circling silently above him. He runs faster, dodging it's shadow in the grass, trying to keep up with Sol. But when he looks for her, she is gone.

The woods remain the same distance on the horizon, forever beyond the reach of his straining legs.

And at his back he can feel the rush of air, hear the click of sharp talons, the beating of great grey wings -

_/No. Not this./_

There is a wrenching sensation as he forces himself to be elsewhere, anywhere else, the scenery warping and changing as he tries to control it-

_(Relax. You have to relax, Garrus.)_

-until the space around him goes soft and unfocused. Shapes emerge, blurring and shifting through landscapes he half recognizes. In quick succession he sees the barracks, the rugged red wastes of Shanxi, the black hills of Gellix.

He looks down and there is a gun in his hand, as solid and real as his own heartbeat.

When he looks up, his squad is with him again.

Butler, Erash, Monteague, Mierin, Grundan Krul, Melanis, Ripper, Sensat, Vortash, Weaver… He reaches out his hand, tries to touch them. But his talons drift right through them, their flesh swirling and billowing like smoke in a draft.

He swallows. There are dark pits where their eyes should be, and their skin is grey and sallow.

He can feel himself forming words, but in this place there is no sound. And yet they must hear him, for each of his lost soldiers raise a diaphanous arm, shadowy talons pointing at something in the distance.

It is too far away to see. He raises his gun, looking through the sight.

Shepard's face is glaring back at him, her green eyes the brightest thing he’s seen in this place.

Every muscle in his body has frozen. His feet are rooted to the ground, and his arms are locked stiff into place. But it doesn’t matter. He only needs one finger to make this right.

It moves so slowly he wants to scream. He thinks maybe he is screaming. His talons are like lead, but he strains his entire being to this simple action, every muscle fighting against the geas her eyes have put on him. He can feel his finger start to curl, the metal yielding millimeter by millimeter, until finally, agonizingly, he feels it give way in one long click-

The gun jumps under his hands. The view through his scope goes dark.

There is a flash of green light, and suddenly everything around him explodes. He can feel the flesh of his face tearing away, taste the blood as it runs into his mouth. He is choking, teeth clicking against the pieces of his own jaw, and above it all there is a noise like singing, like screaming-

…

\- and he blinked, sitting up, as the Med Bay and Liara came back into focus.

"Well," he said, coughing. His throat felt raw, and he gingerly brought a hand up to his face. "That was ... different."

Liara took one faltering step back, and then crumpled to the floor.

Garrus half-rose, half-stumbled off the table, cursing his stiff limbs. “Dr. Chakwas, report the the Med Bay immediately,” he grunted into his omnitool, trying his best to prop Liara up. Her breathing came fast and ragged.

He had just about succeeded in getting her into a sitting position when she coughed, and opened her eyes.

“Goddess,” she breathed. She stared up, gasping and wide eyed. “I could feel her, in your head. Her memory-” She sagged back against his arm, wincing and touching her jaw.

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Garrus said dryly, his free hand rubbing his mandible. “I guess getting shot in the face isn't the sort of thing you forget.”

Liara blinked at him, and then burst into a quick stream of chatter, stumbling over the words in her excitement. “This confirms so many theories! I’ve long posited that the Protheans were capable of a type of transference similar to the meld as a means of transmitting information, but to have concrete evidence that their technology could accomplish something of this magnitude, it’s simply unprecedented-”

“I would have gone with ‘damned inconvenient’,” he snorted, and moved to help her up. She smiled at him, her face open and radiant. Then her smile dimmed, and she looked at him curiously.

“But Garrus,” she said, puzzled. “That thing, in the field. What was that?“

He froze for a moment, then roughly pulled her up to her feet. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It was terrifying,” she babbled on, “but I kept getting the feeling that I wasn’t seeing it right-“

“I don’t want to talk about that,” he said, a little louder than strictly necessary.  

She stared at him, taken aback.

With a mental sigh, he ran a hand over his plates. “Dr. T’soni-”

“Please, just Liara.”

“Liara,” he said, trying to keep his frustration in check. “I know you’re trying to help. I really appreciate you taking all this on. But there are some things in my head I’d rather not share. With anyone.” He looked at her directly. “I’ll try my best to focus on what’s relevant. The rest is nobody’s business but my own. Do you understand?”

“I-, of course,” Liara said, flushing. “I apologize. I did not mean to pry.”

The doors opened with a swish, and Dr. Chakwas strode in. “What is going on in here?” she asked, stopping short at the sight of Garrus helping Liara onto the bed.

“Dr. T’soni was attempting to assess the impact of the Prothean Beacon on my fragile psyche.”

“I see.” Her pale green eyes flicked over to where Liara lay against the bed. “I’ll need to check her for injuries.”

Liara coughed again, and attempted to rise. “I am perfectly alright,” she said weakly.

“That is not for you to judge,” the doctor said, glaring at her.

Liara sat down. “Really,” she said, “I will be fine. The strength of that vision was… unexpected.” She looked up at him, her face set in worried lines. “I must tell you Garrus, you and Shepard are extremely fortunate to have survived your experience with the Beacon. The potency of the message would have completely destroyed a lesser mind. Even second hand, I find it difficult to bear.”

She coughed again, curling forward. Dr. Chakwas forced a glass of water into her hand, and she drank gratefully before looking up again. “And yet I confess I am utterly at a loss to decipher the meaning of that message, or of the words that you spoke.”

“What?” Garrus said, taken aback. “I said something?”

“You were shouting,” Liara said, rubbing her head. “I believe I was able to record the majority of it.” She tapped her omnitool and Garrus started as the sound filled the cabin.

“-TREVALKA DESPIRO CORVINTAS TE, NE BALSKA-DRØIN AGRUTAS-“

The words came rough and strange, in a voice that barely sounded like his own.

“It is unlike any variation of Prothean language I have encountered,” Liara said, her eyes wide with wonder. “I will need time to study.” She brightened. “Perhaps if I cross reference it with the Agessian Mysteries-“

“I’m sure that’s all very well and good, Dr. Tsoni,” Chakwas interrupted, her arms crossed. “But for now I must insist that you get some rest. That is, if Spectre Vakarian does not require any further services from you?’ she said, raising an eyebrow at Garrus.

“No, Ma’am,” he said quickly.

“Then I trust you will allow me to see to the patient unimpeded.” She rounded on Liara. “And as for you,” she said, handing the asari a vial of blue liquid, her face reproving. “Perhaps you will see fit to warn me the next time you intend to requisition my office for use in your Prothean experiments?”

Liara looked stricken. “Yes, of course,” Garrus heard her stutter as he limped out the door.


	14. Two Way Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Tell all the truth but tell it slant" - Emily Dickinson_

“-then you hang back next time we see action.” The door slid shut behind him.

Shepard counted off five full minutes. When she was sure he had really gone, she keyed in the lock sequence.

Then she sagged against the cabin door, her heart beating wildly. She could hear her blood roaring in her ears, and she caught her lip between her teeth.

Pulling up her omnitool she quickly punched in the code.

“Miranda," she said. "I've got a problem."

…

“Shepard,” Miranda said, her voice disapproving as her face flickered into focus. “This is foolish.”

“No,” Shepard said, her eyes still on the door. “This is an emergency.”

Miranda ignored her. “I thought I’d explained that all information should either be encrypted or forwarded through the dead drop we set up on the Citadel. You put both our lives at risk when you attempt direct contact.”

“You said this channel was secure!”

“It is for now,” Miranda said. “But relying on holocalls for all communication is a bad habit to form in the field. You need to familiarise yourself with the proper encryption protocols. The program I sent you-.”

“Forget encryption,” Shepard hissed. “We’ve just recovered the scientist. The _asari_ scientist," she stressed. “Now she wants to study the effects the Prothean Beacon had on Vakarian and me. Only it turns out the asari have this neat little trick where they stare deep into your eyes, reach out their hands and _finger fuck your brain_.”

“Oh.” Miranda blinked. “I see.” She frowned. “That is cause for concern.”

“I’m so glad you agree,” Shepard retorted. Then she stopped. “Wait. You knew?”

“Our organization has had dealings with the asari in the past,” Miranda said. “I am familiar with some of their more … esoteric.. capabilities.”

“Jesus, you could have warned me, Miranda!” Shepard half shouted, shooting a harried glance back at the door as she belatedly brought her voice down to a whisper.

Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Melding is typically reserved for occasions of extreme intimacy, usually between established partners. In rare circumstances I have also seen it employed as an interrogation technique.” She fixed Shepard with a pointed stare. “I did not anticipate that you would be obliged to participate in either scenario.”

“Well, you were wrong,” Shepard said, jamming her hands in her pockets and glaring at the holo.

“So it would seem,” Miranda acknowledged. She paused. “I will admit, I am surprised she asked you to meld with her. I take it you refused.” She sounded vaguely, and to Shepard’s mind, inappropriately amused. “What exactly did you tell her?”

“That I don’t want an-“ Shepard bit off the word 'another' just in time, “…an alien messing around inside my head.” She frowned, flushing at how close she’d come to slipping up. She began picking at the corner of her sleeve. “I got Vakarian to deal with her. He’s pissed, but I don’t think he suspects anything.”

“Surely that should suffice. Or is it really necessary that she examine you as well?” Miranda asked.

“What if she just…. does it?” She mimed reaching out and wiggling her fingers.

Miranda shook her head. “That’s not how-“

“Miranda,” Shepard said, cutting her off, “listen to me. I am stuck on a spaceship with a creature that can read minds. So if you want to lecture me about encryption protocols, you’d better start by giving me one for my fucking head.” Her palms were sweating. She wiped them distractedly on her uniform.

“Shepard-”

"You understand that if I’m linked to Cerberus in any way, I’ll be court-martialed, right?" The muscles in her ruined cheek rippled as she clenched her jaw.  "Hell, that’s just the beginning of what they'll do to me. And if the Council gets wind of it...” She tightened her hands into fists, until she could feel her nails digging deep into the skin. “I need to know how to protect myself against whatever it is she can do.” She shook her head, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at her hands. “There must be a mental technique, maybe a localized barrier, I don’t know, something to block her out. Right?”

Miranda regarded her closely. “Shepard," she said, her voice calm. “Look at me.”

Shepard reluctantly looked back up. Miranda held eye contact.

"When you became my agent, your safety became my primary responsibility.” The hologram flickered, but her eyes remained steady on Shepard’s face. “I swear to you, I will protect you. No matter what happens” she said firmly, “we are in this together."

Shepard stared back for a full minute. Then she nodded. "I believe you.” She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and her hands unclenched. “So can you help?”

Miranda hesitated. “There is training we can give you,” she said finally.

“Good.” Shepard said, rubbing her thumb over the line of red welts she’d dug into her palm. “How soon can you set it up?”  

"You won’t like it.”

Shepard frowned. “Why?”

“It involves several sessions of guided hypnosis,” Miranda said. “We would need to create and implant a series of false memories. It would take time, and possibly necessitate the installation of additional hardware. But I am optimistic that eventually we could succeed in training you to trigger a mental state in which you believed we had never met.”

Shepard was already shaking her head so hard the image went fuzzy. “Hardware? No way. What you’re talking about sounds like brainwashing.”

“That is an oversimplification,” Miranda said, her voice carefully neutral,  “but ultimately not an altogether incorrect parallel- ”

“No.”

“I recognize that it is an extreme solution,” Miranda said, her nostrils flaring slightly, “but if you truly intend to let her excavate your skull in search of Prothean artifacts then I am afraid our options are somewhat limited.”

Shepard stared back at her, her implant a jangling buzz at the base of her skull. She willed herself to calm down. “I don’t want to let her into my head,” she said. “But I can’t afford to worry about her looking into my mind while I’m off guard.”

“That is exceedingly unlikely,” Miranda said. “Melding requires a deep focus and physical contact to maintain." She frowned. "I think you’re losing sight of the bigger picture. Rather than focusing on the potential drawbacks, why not view this as an opportunity? She could be a powerful asset if you were able to manage her correctly. It seems to me that the key to resolving your problem is simply finding the proper leverage.”

Shepard let a out half a laugh, her hand going over her eyes. “I wouldn’t count on that,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying her reputation as a Prothean expert may be somewhat exaggerated,“ Shepard said.

Miranda frowned. “You think she’s a fake?” She shook her head. “I conducted my own authentication of the files the Council sent you on her. By all accounts she is one of the leaders in her field of study-“

“Didn’t keep her from walking straight into a fifty thousand year old trap,” Shepard said. “If we hadn’t found her she’d still be stuck in a giant glowing ball.”

Miranda’s brow arched. “That is… unexpected.” She leaned forward. “What else do you know about her?”

“If I didn’t know for a fact she was over a hundred years old, I’d say she was about 19,” Shepard muttered. “Asking all these ridiculous questions. She called my experiences ‘extraordinary’.” She made her voice go breathy on the word, mimicking the asari’s reverent tone. “And you should see the way she looks at me. Like she wants to go elbows deep inside my brain.” She shuddered.

Miranda looked thoughtful. “Yes, I can see how that would be troubling to you.”

”When I told her off I thought she’d faint.”

“Well, we cannot allow her to compromise your cover,” Miranda said.

“No shit,” Shepard snarled.

“But I must say, the woman you are describing sounds distinctly unthreatening to me, Shepard.” Miranda looked askance at her. “By your own account she is young, naive, and vulnerable. Her mother’s defection to Saren has put her in a position of weakness. And with the geth hunting her, it would come as a surprise to no one if she were to suddenly, shall we say, disappear. ”

Shepard grinned. “Now we’re talking. I could maroon her on the next empty planet we find.” Her eyes lit up. “Hell, if I told her there were more ruins to excavate, she might even go willingly."

"The geth and Saren clearly want her dead. That's reason enough to keep her alive for now,” Miranda cut in, her voice reproving. “And it's entirely possible that her knowledge of Prothean technology could still be useful to us."

At any other time that word, ‘us’, the thought of her and Miranda working as a team would have been a comfort. Now it sent prickles of unease through Shepard's spine, an unwelcome reminder of the invisible forces that stood behind Miranda to whom she was inextricably linked.

She pushed back, irritated. "Did you not hear the part about how she locked herself in a floating energy ball?"

"Even so," Miranda said, her face pensive, "I think you need her."

Shepard swallowed. She’d hoped the asari could undo whatever the Beacon had done to her and Vakarian. But what the hell was the point if it meant linking heads with another alien? At least Vakarian couldn’t read her thoughts.

She frowned, suddenly, as an unpleasant possibility occurred to her.

She hadn’t had much feedback from him since the thresher maw incident, aside from the occasional odd dream. But he had said he could feel her on Therum. Was their link imbalanced, somehow? Her pulse quickened. The only thing worse than them sharing consciousness would be him having a one way channel into hers. She couldn’t afford to let him have any advantage over her, especially one like this. Quickly she closed her eyes, tried to shut out the jangle of her own nerves and focus in on him.

It was difficult to ignore the beating of her own heart. Between the built up adrenaline of their escape from the volcano, and her panic at how close she’d come to discovery during the mission brief, her implant was thrumming with thwarted energy.

But after a second or two of searching, she thought she could feel something, a frisson of stress in the back of her head that had a different resonation from the vibrations of her amp. She concentrated, trying to find it’s center. It was so faint-

“Shepard.”

Her eyes shot open. She blinked for a second, then looked back to Miranda.

"You say she called you... extraordinary?" Miranda said, her tone far too casual.

She had a brief flare of irritation at the interruption, and she tossed her head back, massaging her shoulders. "She's spent her whole life researching dead things" she said flatly, looking up at the ceiling of the cabin.  "Anything that talks back is probably extraordinary to her."

"How does she look at you, when she talks," Miranda pressed.

"Like she wants to reach into my brain and take it apart.” She scowled.

"Hmm."

"What? What is this about?" Shepard shifted in her chair, bringing her gaze back to the holo. She was instantly alert. Miranda had started to smile in a way that experience had taught her meant trouble.

“There may be another way.”

“What ‘other way’?”

Miranda’s smile grew. "From what you've said, I think it's quite possible the asari is taken with you."

For one second Shepard’s eyes widened. Then she glared. “You’re fucking with me.”

“On the contrary, Shepard," Miranda said, her smile disappearing. “I am quite serious. And if you want to prevent her from blowing your cover, you'll need to take steps to ensure that you retain her interest.”

"What?"

Miranda sighed. "I realize this isn't the sort of thing they covered in basic training.” She smiled. “Fortunately, you have an expert willing to coach you on some pointers."

"Please tell me this is a joke," Shepard said.

"You'll need to make her think you return her affections. It is the only way to keep her from seeing you clearly."

Shepard swore virulently. “Miranda, that is the last thing I need. Some moonstruck alien swanning around after me on my own damned ship-“

Miranda laughed. "And why not? She's your type, after all. The blushing, starry eyed ingenue, looking to get closer to the world-weary, experienced soldier-“

"Let me stop you right there."

Miranda snorted. "I’ve seen you take advantage of it often enough on shore leave."

"Those were human women, Miranda!"

"More like girls, if you ask me." She paused thoughtfully. "100 years old. That’s quite young for an asari. She is still of an age to be impressionable. If you really worked at it, you might even succeed in winning her over to our cause. Perhaps if you gave her the proper incentives..." she raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"You want me to try to turn an asari scientist into the agent of a pro-human paramilitary group?"

Miranda tapped her nails thoughtfully against her desk. "You're right. That calls for an advanced level of manipulation, and we've barely covered the basics of tradecraft. For now we'll stick to keeping her from becoming a threat.”

"Jesus, Miranda, slow down a minute," Shepard said. "Look, it’s obviously a damn sight better than putting my frontal lobe through Cerberus’ spin cycle. But what you’re talking about goes way beyond my range of experience.” She ran a hand through her hair. “It sounds like you want me to run some kind of con. I don’t know the first thing about stringing along normal women, let alone trying to pull one over on a hundred year old alien who can literally read my mind if she touches me.”

“Shepard, I’ve told you, it doesn’t work like that,” Miranda said. “She’ll see your memories, feel what you feel. But she won’t necessarily understand what it means.”

“This just gets better and better,” Shepard said, one hand covering her face.

“You won’t need to hide your reservations from her. She can hardly expect you to feel unconflicted about forging an emotional attachment to an alien. Especially considering the circumstances of your rather singular upbringing.”

Shepard went still. Miranda paused, then continued carefully. “I would recommend that you share that aspect of your life with her. It is easier to hide the truth behind another truth.” She smiled again. “And I have heard that the asari can be very sympathetic, when it suits them."

“I don’t want her sympathy,” Shepard snarled.

“If that’s what it takes to keep her properly managed, then yes, you do,” Miranda countered. At Shepard’s glare she sighed. “Think of it as a tool, or a weapon in your arsenal. All that matters is that it has the desired effect. You need to establish a context that provides an alternative explanation for your reactions. Once you’ve accomplished that, she'll be able to rationalize any ambivalence she picks up from you. She may even find it flattering.” She smiled again, and waved one hand in an exaggerated flourish. “The tortured soldier, fighting against feelings the strange young woman awakens in her. It's standard romance fare- “

“I get it,” Shepard said through gritted teeth. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

Miranda gave her a disapproving look, but continued. “It takes very little to build a rapport once the initial attraction is there. But it is crucial that you evince an interest. You must act quickly.”

“How?”

“Go talk to her. Ask her questions about herself. Answer any of hers. Be truthful whenever you can.” The corner of her mouth quirked up in a smug grin. ”You're not a very convincing liar, you know."

Shepard glared at her. “Yeah? And what if she asks me, ‘hey, by the way, do you happen to be the agent of a terrorist organization?’

“It would pose no problem even if she did ask you such a patently ridiculous question, because Cerberus is not a terrorist organization,” Miranda snapped, her eyes blazing, “a misapprehension which I thought we had put to bed after our last conversation.”

Shepard opened her mouth to speak but Miranda held up one long finger.

“The point is that she _won’t_ ask,” she continued, “because if you do your job properly, and I will personally ensure that you do,” she added, shooting her a dark glance for extra emphasis, “she will be too nervous to get more than five words out around you without stumbling over her own tongue."

“And what if you’re wrong?” Shepard said, crossing her arms over her chest. “What if ‘tortured soldiers’ aren’t her thing?”

Miranda shrugged. “Then be the person she wants you to be.You don’t have to build an extravagant fable. Just let her see whatever it is she wants to see. ”

“You want me to lie about who I am?” Shepard said, leaning back in her chair.

“Really Shepard,” Miranda said with a slight smile. “Aren’t you already?”

Shepard stared at her, anger simmering under her skin. “Watch yourself, Miranda.”

Miranda shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I fail to see why lying should constitute an insurmountable obstacle.” She turned her face away, reaching for something beyond the hologram. “We lie to ourselves every day, about who we are and what we want. When we look at other people, all we really see is the reflection of our own desires. The easiest way to hide what you are is by becoming a mirror."

Shepard stared through the hologram at Miranda’s face, made strange by the new scars and bruising. Over the years their working relationship had grown to resemble something very close to friendship. Though she’d known Miranda had another agenda, she had always believed that there was an understanding between them that went beyond Sec36 and the Alliance, the wartime roles they’d been assigned to play. But now it seemed that with every conversation the woman she thought she knew slipped further and further away.

“There is another matter we need to discuss,” Miranda said suddenly, rousing Shepard out of her thoughts. “I’d planned on briefing you later, but we may as well cover it now.”

“What?” Shepard asked warily.

“You’ll be returning to the Citadel soon, yes?” At Shepard’s nod, she continued. “There’s a reporter who’ll be waiting for you. Emily Wong.”

“You know how I feel about reporters,” Shepard said, tensing up.

“She’s one of ours. Well,” Miranda amended, “she doesn’t know the full extent of our organization. But she has proven sympathetic enough to our cause to lend her credentials to this mission.” She looked up at Shepard. “It’s a straightforward black-bag operation. The target is the C-SEC Academy. She will supply you with the bug.”

Shepard swore. “Have you been listening to a goddamn thing I’ve been saying?” she snarled. “I can’t be implicated in this kind of petty bullshit-“

“Shepard please,” Miranda said, “try to give me some measure of credit.” She waited pointedly, then continued. “Ms. Wong is there to provide you with an alibi, or, should the circumstances require it, to take the fall. Her editors think she’s working on a story about overworked air traffic controllers. If either of you are discovered, they will be given evidence that proves their concerns were justified. If necessary, there will be an accident.”

“And afterwards?” Shepard said, barely keeping her voice in check. “How long until she decides that a story about a Spectre turned Cerberus informer is too valuable to sit on?” She balled up her hands and shook her head, her voice low. “You told a reporter that I’m working with you, Miranda? Are you out of your mind?”

Miranda regarded her calmly. “Should Ms. Wong break the terms of our contract, she will face severe repercussions. But even if such an act was not in obvious violation of her own best interests, she would still be unable to reveal the details of your relationship with Cerberus.”

“Why is that?”

“Because she has no idea that you work with us, Shepard. She’s been tasked with bribing a Citadel official to plant the bug. We have provided her with a list of candidates whose security clearance grants them access to the areas we are interested in. You are one name on that list.” She returned her attention to the terminal. “She’ll expect you to refuse at first. Make whatever show of reluctance you like. But be sure to take the bribe.”

Shepard scowled. “I’m not doing this for money.”

Miranda looked up irritably. “Think, Shepard. Which is more suspicious? A Spectre willing to bend the rules for credits? Or a Spectre who provides morally ambiguous favors to strangers for no discernible reason.” She shook her head. “She won’t suspect anything, so long as you take the money. In fact, I recommend you shake her down for everything you can. She knows how much your help is worth. And she’s being paid a considerable amount for her services.”

Shepard was quiet for a moment. “What are you going to do with the information,” she asked finally.

“I should think it would be obvious,” Miranda replied, “given your own recent treatment at the hands of C-Sec employees.”

Shepard narrowed her eyes. “Ambassador Udina is already working on integrating human officers into C-Sec.”  

“And you think the establishment is just going to make way? We need to ensure that humanity has a strong presence on the Citadel. Bugging their communications will guarantee that we remain informed of any crimes committed, as well as any corruption among the ranks.”

Shepard stared at her. “Sure it will. And I’ll bet it’s just a happy accident that tapping the Academy also nets you intel on the heart of the Citadel’s defense systems.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Then Miranda sighed.“I suppose I could promise to forward the Alliance anything that we deem would be of importance to them,” she grudgingly allowed. “Anonymously, of course.”

Shepard nodded. “Alright, Miranda” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good. You’ll find her in the lower wards. Or I should say, she’ll find you.” Miranda turned her attention to her desk. "I’ll be clearing my schedule for the next few days,” she said. “I will be available to you whenever you need me. Do not hesitate to contact me if something goes awry." She paused, deliberating. "In light of everything we’ve discussed, I believe we can shelve encryption protocols for the time being. But I’d appreciate progress reports on any developments with the asari.”

Shepard swallowed. “I’ll give it a try.”

“Don’t try, Shepard. Succeed,” Miranda said sharply. “Our mission depends on it.”

The holo stuttered and then disappeared, leaving Shepard staring at a blank spot on the wall.

She let her body fall back against the chair, dragging her hands up through her hair. Her head was starting to ache, and she winced, rubbing uselessly at her scalp.

Acting on a whim, she focused inward, trying to see if she could locate the faint hum again.

Her eyes snapped open in shock.

It had grown. No longer a diminutive presence lurking beneath the familiar din of her amp, it had swollen up into a thick grey wave. Even without actively searching she could feel it lapping at the edges of her mind. Frowning, she closed her eyes again.

Her first instinct was to wall it off, shove enough of her own noise at it until she had pushed it back through to him. But she needed to learn to manage their connection, and constantly giving him access to her reactions while ignoring his was not the way to do it. Gritting her teeth, she made herself reach out, suppressing the vibration of her amp until the channel between them was clear and open...

It swept through in muddy torrent, hitting her mind like a great wet slap of murky water. Conflicting emotions swirled around her head like sediment, coating everything they touched in a layer of bitterness and dull anger. She felt an acidic taste well up under her tongue, as sharp as the ache of old wounds. Cursing, she strained to center herself, trying to keep hold of what was hers in the sudden deluge of his regrets.

She brought her hand up to trace her scar. Biting down hard on her lip, she made herself remember reaching up to touch her face and feeling the tips of her fingers go right through, the soft tissues giving way to blood and shattered bone. _This is real_ , she thought, _this is yours_.

With a sickening lurch she felt the room shift around her as something huge rubbed up the wrong side of her consciousness. In an instant everything was gone, replaced by an all encompassing noise that burned so hot in her head she saw it as an explosion of light, as ten million voices screaming out in a barrage of pure electric green-

_-It is unbearable, worse than the screech of metal against metal, the rusty squeal of nails dragging down smooth, icy titanium. It tears through her cerebral cortex like an incendiary round, the acrid stench of melting keratins and scorched flesh filling her nasal cavity. She writhes in mute agony as it vibrates through her skull, her bones, until finally and with herculean effort she clears her mouth to shout-_

Then she was blinking up at the legs of her chair, one cheek pressed into the cold floor of the cabin. Her breath came in shaky gasps, and she closed her eyes and coughed, feeling the edges of her ribs compress against her lungs.

She sat up, wincing. Something warm trickled over her upper lip. She ran the back of one hand under her nose. It came away red.

Quickly she pushed herself upright, one hand raised to obstruct the flow of blood from her nose. She reached out to pull an old t-shirt from the drawer by the bed, balled it up and pressed it to her face.

As she turned away, her eyes caught on the small mirror Anderson had placed by the dresser.

Her own tired face looked back at her, bloody and disheveled.

Shepard sank down onto the bed, staring warily at her own reflection.


End file.
